


The Hour - the sum of our mistakes

by Samstown4077



Series: Randall Brown / Bel Rowley Collection [7]
Category: Peter Capaldi fandom, The Hour (TV)
Genre: F/M, First everything is fine, Fluff, Freddie is dead, Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Peter Capaldi fandom - Freeform, Romance, Slow Build, and if this writer can and is willing to they will save the day, conflicts, hurting fluff, then we have that sort of shipwreck, times of crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: A tale of how two co-workers realise there is more in store for them both - together. It all begins with a helping hand from Randall when Bel's TV doesn't work anymore, while the glorious ship The Hour faces harsh and uncertain times. And in the chaos of blooming love and failed technology, a grave mistake threatens to tear the ship into the abyss of cancellation, and Randall, Bel and everyone else apart.  Set after S2
Relationships: Randall Brown/Bel Rowley
Series: Randall Brown / Bel Rowley Collection [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/808311
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Relentlessly I expand this ship with my never-ending ideas for Randall Brown and Bel Rowley and all the other people at The Hour. The alternative title for this story could be easily called "It was supposed to be a one-shot" because the idea was fitting for a one and then I came up with so much more. Well, it shall not be the readers bad.
> 
> Most of it is written and the storyline is plotted out well. Tbh, I wanted to write dramatic but I think in the end, it's one big fluff bomb.

“The ratings are in,” Randall announced without even looking up from his papers he was reading on his Freudian soda, the moment Bel set foot into his office. As usual, a couple of articles and papers laid out in front of him in a specified pattern. 

“So I’ve heard,” Bel said, shifting a little unease on the spot by the door. “I am sure they are…,” her hand wavered slowly in the air. 

They now worked for almost two years together, and from time to time, they finished the sentence of the other. Bel knew, for this special occasion, Randall would do so. 

“...bearable,” finally he looked at her and went to hold out the paper where the verdict about the show had been written down. 

She took the paper with a silent groan. What the word bearable in Randall’s vocabulary actually meant was clear. Glancing over the figures, “they are not that bad.” 

“They could be better.” They had been once.

“They always could,” she was as unhappy with the ratings as he was. “I am certain after the summer they’ll be up again.” 

“ITV is snapping at our heels,” Randall grumbled going over to his desk, getting the ratings. 

Bel followed stepping over his paper on the ground, waiting for him to hand the numbers over and reading his demure expression. “You have a deja vu,” was all she said. 

“I am having more than this,” he watched her reading the numbers. “You should too.” 

It had been a tough year, with ratings going up and down like waves in a storm. After the Cilenti incident, the ship they all called The Hour wasn’t just cruising through the news, it was drifting. 

“The board members have given us generous time to sort us out again,” Randall kept explaining. “I fear the times are up now. After the summer we have to deliver, or we face the consequences. Contracts and budgets are up then and-”

“-and you want to get them up,” Bel finished, her arms akimbo. She didn’t need Randall to tell her how serious it was; they both knew that. It was depressing. 

“Exactly.” He watched her bite the inside of her cheeks. It made him feel bad; he knew it was his job to put pressure on his team, sometimes Bel in particular. Freddie’s death had been tough for them all, but for Bel, it had been nothing but easy. His voice softened, “The last year was hard; we did better as I expected.”

“We have a good team.” 

“Most of all,” he gave her a kind expression, “we have an exceptional producer. I’d be lost without you.”

His honest, kind words made her relax and smile at him. They all had gone through some hassle times, Randall included. The newsroom was no place for having secrets. After Freddie’s death, not only Bel’s feelings for her friend had surfaced but also the rumour about Lix’s and Randall’s dead child. 

“Thank you,” she shrugged then. The show must go on. “Still, our ratings are miserable.” 

“ITV is doing a series of interviews and reports about airbases in Europe. We should lay a close eye on it. They’re airing the first bit tonight; you might want to tune in.”

“Well, I’ll try,” Bel rose an eyebrow, annoyed she had to bring up another miserable problem in her life that affected her job. “My telly is broken; the antenna is not working right. Getting statics all the time. I hadn’t had time to get it fixed.” 

Randall gave a short, surprised hum.

“Don’t worry, rumour says I am working in a big broadcasting facility,” she chuckled agonised. “Sure I’ll find a telly here. Or I simply balance the damn antenna on my head. Ha!” The joke had sounded better in her head, so she scrunched her nose for a second. “Anyway, we should tell the others about the rating in the afternoon editorial and provide a plan of how we want them to get back up.”

“And you have that plan worked out already?” Randall pursed his lips, an amused crinkle forming around his eyes. The way Bel used to jump from one topic to the next in her usual babble, without taking a break for air always made his day a little bit more exciting. 

“We need to boost morale. Morality is what we need, I guess.” 

“Morality is possibly the only thing left.” Randall sat back down watching Bel give him a look that questioned particularly his moral for a moment before she left his office. 

Randall sighed. Someday, he had to find out what the word ‘morality’ actually meant. Right now, it only indicated that their ship was about to sink into insignificance with flying colours.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Later, during the morning conference, Bel had complained once again at some point that her telly was going haywire from time to time. That she hadn’t been able to figure out what was the problem. A chance for Hector being somewhat dickish in suggesting she should ask her boyfriend to take care of it. 

Bel had taken the newspaper the anchorman was reading, hitting him with it over the head for his irrelevant comment. “Is there ever a time you can actually be as charming as Marnie tells us you are?” 

Not that Hector Madden was a persona Randall thought about when leaving the newsroom. Still, at least once he had wondered why Marnie Madden had decided to stay with such a self-centred man. 

Hector took the newspaper back and ignored the assault as any good former corpsman would do, “I take it you are not dating at the moment.”

“Mister Madden, a little respect in my newsroom,” Randall had warned him. It hadn’t been the first time. “Why don’t you get us updated on the Robertson-case?” 

Afterwards, Randall stopped Hector by the door, “Mister Madden, a word. In your … dressing room. Now.” There were days Hector wished he had stayed in bed.

Almost silently, Randall closed the door behind him, while Hector walked around his table, shuffling a few papes to the side. 

“I hope you are well aware of why I haven’t fired you yet.”

Hector tensed with his shoulder for a moment, before he put on his 8 o’clock smile, “Because I am incredibly talented?”

“Because she doesn’t let me!” Randall’s words made Hector drop his smirk immediately. “One more word like this, into the direction of Miss Rowley, and I swear, I am selling you to channel 3. Making you read the weather forecast for the rest of your life.” Hector wanted to interrupt, but Randall rose a finger shutting him up quickly. “I don’t care what history is between you and Miss Rowley — it was before my time — but I only can advise you to soldier up and on. Miss Rowley had and has not one bad word for you. Only kindness. You should follow her example.”

Hector decided it was best to keep his opinion on the matter to himself. Since Freddie’s death, the relationship between him and his Head of News had degraded. Not that Hector had tried to figure out why but it seemed to him Randall had become very protective of Bel. So, snide remarks he had given in the past without anyone carrying, were now taken differently. 

“Yes.”

At first, Randall nodded and was turning to the door, his hand on the handle already, when he turned back once again, “If I had another — “

“— But you don’t!” at some point, even Hector’s patience and pride were mocked to extend. “If you had another Freddie Lyon at hand, isn’t that what you wanted to say?”

“I don’t need another Freddy Lyon. The only thing I need is someone half as good as him and your days at the Hour are numbered!” 

Hector and him, they never would become friends, but at some point, Randall had had some honest respect for him, till one day — someday after Freddie’s burial — he had no more. Again and again, they had ended up in frictions that went over their usual banter. Even Lix had asked him at some point if he wasn’t going too hard on Hector. 

While the lecture Randall had given, Hector had sat down, one hand trailing over the surface of his table, the other kneading his upper right thigh. Not willing to feed Randall’s anger, he avoided eye contact, wondering in silence what he could do to earn back some of his respect, “He was my friend too, okay?”

Randall inhaled, knowing he had been too hard on him this time, “You think I am treating you too harshly?”

Hovering with his head to the left, he replayed a few of his remarks toward Bel, “I just wanted her to get her mind off Freddie. There is a chance I’ve overdone it.”

“I see,” he let out the stream of air, pursing his lips, “let’s try to work harder regarding this matter. Clear?”

“Clear,” Hector confirmed and then rose from his chair when Randall was half through the door already. “Maybe that is the problem…”

“The problem?”

“That the ghost of Freddie is still hovering through these floors, like the smoke of cigarettes,” Hector explained, with a sad expression. 

“Maybe…,” was all Randall said, before leaving Hector alone. 

~

“What did you tell him?” Bel had tried to keep her curiosity to herself, but knowing everyone who lost Randall’s favour had a hard time getting it back, she needed to know. 

“I told him to buck up his ideas. That’s all.” The way he said it, he did not want to discuss it further, and Bel considered herself satisfied with it. 

“You want me to take a look?” Randall sat over some reports, one hand holding a pen, the other by his temple. Bel had already swayed away again, now looking at him unsure what he meant. “The telly.”

“Would you?” she had wanted to decline his offer. It was a little embarrassing; she couldn’t handle a darn tv while working in a newsroom, on the other hand, it could take a few more days or even a week till she would get hold of someone. Randall at least she wouldn’t need paying. 

“1938 in Spain, we found an old film-projector,” he remembered it as if it had been yesterday. “I was able to repair it, for some unknown reason. So, we — a bunch of 20 people — were able to watch one of those Erol Flynn movies. Robin Hood, when I remember correctly,” he tilted his head dismissively. “Till this day I wish I hadn’t been able to repair that damn thing.” 

Bel smacked in amusement, “Men in tights, would give me nightmares too. If you could, you’ll maybe save my day.” 

He nodded, “I will. I’ll come by at your office, pick you up.”

~

“On a scale of one to ten, how worried are you?” Bel asked a minute after Randall had begun steering his car into the general direction of Bel’s apartment complex. 

Randall waited till he had gone around a corner, “Five.”

“Five?” Bel turned her head in surprise. “You are lying.”

Turning his head to her for a moment, in the same way, he wondered how she was able to see through is deceit so quickly. “Six.”

“You mean seven.”

He smacked, “Fine, true. It’s a seven. You?”

“Twelve.”

That let him laugh up, “Twelve is not on the scale.”

“Twelve is always on the scale!” Bel protested. She was deliberately looking out of the window so Randall could not see the smile that built on her lips.

“You said on a scale one to ten,” he sensed she was just having a joke with him. Nevertheless, he felt to sort the severe matter out. “Only to announce your … worry-o-meter is at a twelve.” 

Now Bel got the giggles, “Worry-o-meter? Are you trying to be funny?”

“I am trying to be serious,” he glanced over, setting the indicator to the left before doing a turn. 

She watched his hands slide over the steering wheel. As he was not a buff version of a man as Hector was, but tall and lanky, his fingers were also long and she could see he took care of them. Like he seemed to take care of his appearance too. Clean, neat and fashionable suits. His curls always tamed and finished off with a sharp haircut. Never once Bel had seen him with a stubble, in contrast to the other men she worked with. 

“Are you? Because for a moment I thought you wanted to cheer me up.”

Via car, one could reach Bel’s apartment block within 15 minutes, and when Randall had found a parking spot, they had only been in the car for 18 minutes. Letting the engine die, he turned to her, “You laughed, so it seemed to work.” Bel blushed. “We can do this. Bring the Hour back to old shine. I admit I don’t know how at the moment because the low season is against us. But this team is a good team, one of the best I ever worked with. I am certain, together, we can make it. Plus, there is one advantage we have.”

“Advantage? And that is?”

Randall’s right hand reached for the door handle, and his left to his tie, “I have a bloody, brilliant producer at hand. Her telly is damaged, but I am sure she’ll save the day anyway.”

Before Bel could react to his praise, he had jumped out of the car. Coming round, he opened the door for her, and Bel noted the gentle flush of red in his cheeks when facing him. Instead of stepping away, she kept standing, so the door was the only thing separating them, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Believing in me,” she reached for the edge of the door, to shut it, “It’s nothing that happens often.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This damn door,” Bel needed to press against her apartment door, lift it slightly at the same time to open it up. “It’s jammed since forever, and my landlord is sadly not the most reliable.” At the same time, they entered, she saw Randall give the hinges a scrutinising look, “Don’t even think about it. I don’t pay rent for someone else repairing this door, so forget about it.”

“As you say,” he stepped inside, taking in the small entrance room of Bel Rowley’s apartment. 

“Come in,” she motioned him with him after having hung up her coat and his. 

Randall took his time looking around. Her place wasn’t that big. A living room with a small kitchen area, the next room was her bedroom, only separated through a sliding door. Plus the bathroom, behind a door near the entrance. 

It was enough for her; she wasn’t around often anyway. “Sorry, I haven’t expected a visitor,” she went to pick up a red cardigan that she had thrown over the sofa the day before. For not possessing much, her place could look astonishing chaotic she thought, noticing some newspapers, pens and a few books across the small table in the living room. 

“No, worries,” Randall glanced into her bedroom. The door was open, and it was hard to oversee. Still, he felt a little awkward. One wall was yellow. Interesting choice. “Nice place.”

Comparing it to his apartment, he would have finally paid off in a year, was of course, beyond dispute. Nevertheless, he did, remembering the days he had been her age. Never long in one place, always renting something for max half a year, before finally settling in ten years ago. 

“It’s not the worst neighbourhood, and cheap,” she explained herself. “I like it.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Randall assured her with a soft expression. One day he would tell her about the places he had lived in as a young man with lesser money as some of the beggars on the street. Smaller as Lix’s shoebox office. “So, it’s this one?” he pointed then at the telly.

“It’s not like I have another in the bedroom, Randall,” she teased, her long eyelashes flashing at him. “You want something to drink?”

“You have by any chance some orange juice?” he asked, taking off his jacket, to place it accurately over a stool nearby. 

“Yes, I think I have,” she smiled, dared to watch him undress. It was a mild curiosity, as he not even in summer tended to take off his jacket. When then behind closed doors. “Let me take a look.”

Slowly he took out the cufflinks, letting them vanish in the small pocket of his waistcoat. When Bel returned with a glass of juice, he rolled up his sleeves regarding the telly as if expecting it to jump at him at any moment.

Having turned his back at her, it showed off the dark blue lining of his waistcoat that matched his tie — the one with the small white dots — and Bel raised her eyebrows for a second for noticing those facts. She settled beside him, also looking down at the TV, holding the glass in hand, “do you expect it to bite you?”

The stern expression got released into a soft chuckle, “I hope not.” Then he took the glass she had offered. “It’s probably just the antenna,” he suggested, taking a small sip of juice and handed the glass back to her. The bitterness of the liquid got swirled around in his mouth before he swallowed. 

Bel let her eyes roam over his forearms. “You want to give me your watch?” 

Randall inhaled, a detail he had missed, and he was glad she pointed it out. It would have been a shame the watch would get a scratch. He took it off and handed it over. 

“Omega Speedmaster. Quite nice.”

About tackling the problem with the TV, Randall stopped a moment, regarding her, “Didn’t think you knew about watches.” 

Bel pursed her red painted lips, adding then a forgiving smirk, “Didn’t think you know about tellies.”

“Chapeau!” He kneeled, checking the antenna and connection ports for the electricity. “Will you turn it on please?”

“Not that you get electrocuted?” she hesitated but pressed the on-button eventually.

“I count on your ability to commence life support measurements when something happens,” he smirked, glancing at her for a moment. He was sure she had decided to let her hair grow out. Usually, it touched her shoulders, a length she wore open often, but now she put them daily into an updo close to the neck. 

Bel went back, settling onto the sofa, “I value your high opinion of my talents, Mister Brown.” 

Randall began to bend the antenna slightly, waiting for a response from Bel, “How is it?”

“Getting worse,” she made a dismissing face, what also could be owed the fact, that there was some cooking show going on. 

Then Randall pulled at something, and the screen went blank with a buzzing. He grunted softly holding something in hand now, “there is the culprit,” he held up a small something Bel didn’t know what to make of it. “The connection between the antenna and tv.”

“Do I need a new one? Telly I mean?” She had no money for a new telly.

Randall read her worry, “No, just the connection part, it’s nothing expensive. Come here; I’ll show you.”

Bel walked over, arms crossed in front of her peering down at the backside of her telly. Randall pointed at the connection, “I put it back in, so you won’t be totally out of the loop,” he suggested. “When you have a replacement, you just pull it out and put in the new one. That’s it.”

“Seems fairly easy,” she nodded confidently, already knowing she might ask him once more to help. 

“It is, but,” Randall came back to his feet again, reading her thoughts, “I am happy to help, in case you need some.”

“Oh, I think I encroached on your time already,” she gave the backside of her telly a lost look, turning then to Randall. He was getting grey, she thought suddenly. In her opinion it suited him -- she better kept that to herself. 

They both at the same time regarded his hands, slightly dirty from working round the dirty backside of the telly. Bel noticed his uneasiness with it, “Here, come, clean your hands,” she motioned him to the kitchen sink, placing a new dishcloth and a bit of soap out for him. 

Because the place was not giving many opportunities for a stroll, she kept leaning against the counter beside him, watching. At the same time, he slowly cleaned his hands under the warm water. Carefully making sure his hands and fingernails got clean again. Each finger got scrubbed with soap and the cloth. Long, elegant fingers that spend much time under hot water and away from the daylight. 

Randall noticed her looks down his hands, “It must look absurd to you.”

Only then Bel realised she was not only staring at him but also standing way too close in his personal space. “I am sorry!” she stepped away a bit, red in the face. She had gotten used to his OCD, she often observed in the office. “No, it doesn’t. It seems maybe a bit odd, but … it’s nothing actually.”

Drying his hands, he rolled down the sleeves before placing the cloth and soap carefully back to the place they stood.

Bel approached him, holding his watch in hand, “Shall I?” she spread the band and Randall held out his wrist. Carefully she placed the leather band around it, closing the clasp and then shoved the end of the dark brown band under the small loop. 

Her fingers, well-manicured and painted with a cream coloured nail varnish, brushed against his skin, making the inside of him tense but also enjoying the touch. In the end, she turned his hand again, giving the watch another observing look, “are you by any chance hungry?”

She was looking at him, and he was still with her holding his hand. When she let go, he inhaled, the offer unexpected, “Uhm, yes, but I don’t want to put you out.” 

“It’s the least I can do for your help,” she shrugged walking over to the fridge. “Don’t expect much, but I can warm up some curry if you like.”

He hesitated, shuffling around on the spot a bit before reaching for his cufflinks, feeling the silver pieces out for a bit, “I am not sure— “

“- the telly didn’t bite, I won’t either,” then it came to her he might have an appointment. “Of course, when you have somewhere to be, then…”

Tomorrow was Saturday, “No, I don’t,” he couldn’t help but find his behaviour ridiculous.

“Is it a yes then?”

He nodded, acknowledging to his willing defeat, “yes,” and Bel smiled. 

“Would you mind when I change my clothes first?”

Unintentional, he looked her over. Today it had been her dark blue dress suit, the golden jewelry in the form of a leaf, a white blouse underneath, what could be seen barley, only when she sat at the table leaning over. Those were the things he noticed. He didn’t know why, but he had an eye for it. He could tell when Hector was wearing the same tie twice on two days in a row, as much as he could say if Lix had slept in the office once again by the creases that crinkled in her shirt. “No, I don’t. It’s your home; you do whatever you like. Mind when I get me some more Orange Juice while you redress?” 

“Go ahead,” she pointed at the fridge and vanished into her bedroom, closing the door. When she began to unbutton her blouse, she heard the refrigerator go open, and it felt weird redressing while her Head of News roamed around in her kitchen for juice. On the other hand, this was Randall, a colleague, a friend she dared to say. Not that they had spent time before after work hours as she had with the others. 

Quickly she shoved over a white t-shirt, a dark grey jumper and some black slags. Checking her looks in the mirror, she grabbed for a hairband, tied a simple ponytail and returned to the living room. Randall was leaning against the counter, drinking while also letting his eyes roam through her place, one hand in his trouser pockets.

When he saw her, he was close to choking at his juice but could hold back, overacting it he cleared his throat. 

Bel tried not to smile about it but failed, “not the usual business attire, I know.”

Scratching his cheek, feeling he had blushed, he stepped away from the counter, “I’ve only realised I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“True,” she glanced down at herself, changing the position with Randall who retreated to the sofa while she went to get the curry onto the cooker. “Also, I never have seen you in a jumper either.”

“I don’t possess any,” he answered without delay, “I even sleep in my button-ups.”

Bel turned to look at him flabbergasted, only when he tilted his head, pursing his lips, she reacted, “you had me! Didn’t expect jokes from you.” She went back to the pan. 

He let it go by without comment and kept looking around in her apartment. There was a sideboard with some old newspapers and a couple of other books, that tickled something inside of him. It had to stroke him right at the beginning, but as he had been busy with the telly and not wanted to be impolite, he had ignored it. Now, with nothing to do, it made him massage his forefinger with his other hand to hold back. 

“Should be only a couple of minutes,” Bel turned, seeing him rub his hands, having fixed something in the room. She followed his looks to the sideboard, guessing what was bucking him. “You are thinking about rearranging my apartment or anything?” 

“No, uhm,” quickly he cleared his throat and scratched his cheek, his eyes darting from the sideboard to Bel and back again, “not exactly.” 

“The books?” she asked to his surprise. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know he was sorting things in the public area of the office. Thumbs tacks, newspapers, paper clips on the blackboard. He even had rearranged little paper clips in her office when talking things over with her. Something he did very subtly, and she guessed it was a tactical way of working around his OCD in public he had developed for years. “Go ahead.” 

Her offer let him blush, aside Lix no one dared to point his behaviour out. Then again, it would make him more at ease, “Are you sure?” he had learned to suppress the urge to a certain degree. Here and there he needed to shuffle things around, a pen, a ruler, little things no one would notice but would make him feel more comfortable. 

Bel tasted from the spoon of the food was getting warm, “I wouldn’t say so when it wasn’t.”

He hesitated for another minute, but when she kept being busy with the pot, he went over and pushed the stack of paper into order. Placing one of the books to the other side, so it was sorted with the rest, “You read much?” 

“I… no, I try, but lack the time,” she took the pot from the cooker and went for two plates. Always having one eye on Randall, “My Head of News keeps me busy.” 

He chuckled, feeling his stomach grumble, he hadn’t had lunch that day. “I am sure he does.” 

Bel kept smiling while steering the food, “here,” she turned and held up the spoon for him to try as if it was the natural thing in the world. When he didn’t react and only stared at her uncertain, she motioned him over, “I need to know if it needs more salt.”

“Oh,” he startled out of his state and walked over. 

“Haven’t you heard the rumours?” He hadn’t taken a bite yet and looked at her the spoon hovering in the air. 

“I am no one for rumours,” he said low, but when Bel rose an eyebrow, he knew she wanted him to ask. “What rumour?”

“That I can’t cook.” 

Randall twitched both eyebrows, looking at the curry that was presented to him, he wasn’t picky. Still, when he admitted, he had overheard such rumour or two, “and can you?” 

Bel laughed, “Taste the food, Randall!” 

With a smirk, he reached for her hand to hold it steady, before taking the spoon with the food into his mouth. His eyebrows came up again when his tongue was processing the spices. Unable to speak at first, he hummed his agreement, “Not bad, Miss Rowley! Not bad at all.” 

Pleased with his reaction, she placed two plates out of the locker on the counter and filled them with food, “It’s the only thing I can cook, to be honest. I mean, the only thing I can cook very good. And pasta.”

“Your talents are surprising me at daily measure,” he joked and waited till she had put some food one each plate. When she nodded, he reached for them only to realise she didn’t possess a dinner table. It smacked him he hadn’t noticed; he hadn’t missed one till now.

Bel took his baffled look with a smirk, “I used to eat on the sofa or in front of it.” She had given up feeling embarrassed about the fact that her apartment was just too small to have some full dinner attire.

Randall turned almost mechanically to the sofa, and Bel took one of the plates from him,” sofa it is then. “

Without explaining further, she sat in front of the couch, placing the plate on to the table that just had the right height to eat from it when sitting in front. 

“I was thinking about the position in Berlin,” Bel began after having taken a few bites. 

“Yes? I hope you are not volunteering.” Randall reached for his juice. The position had come up a few weeks ago. It was becoming vacant in the next two months. The higher floors had sent out requests to each department to make proposals. For some reason, the position in Berlin hadn’t hit excitement. 

His comment let her go a little detour, “What if I do?” 

“I’ll dare you not to!” he smirked. 

“You dare me?” she wondered about the expression. “Are we playing truth or dare then?” 

It hadn’t been his intention, but now she pointed it out he found it amusing, “you dared me to eat your food, I dare you not to go to Berlin.”

“That’s not how the game works, Randall,” she went to get herself some water from the fridge. “What if I would say I ignore your dare?” 

He waited till she sat beside him again, “you’ll lose the game.” 

“Can’t let that happen,” she giggled. “What do you think about Isaac?” 

“Mister Wengrow? I am not sure if he’s experienced enough,” he mused. The young man was a good guy, but Randall couldn’t see him in Berlin as a foreign desk. 

“I am not sending Lix!” Bel said adamantly.

They both knew the higher floors had put an eye on their friend. She had an excellent reputation and was known for even taking the most unpleasant job when it was about a foreign desk. 

“He’ll learn,” absently Bel shoved a bit of food back and forth on her plate. “Maybe it’s what he needs to… to grow up -- when you get what I mean.” 

“I do. Do I have to decide now?” Randall had finished and shoved the plate aside, leaning against the sofa turning more toward her, “or can I sleep a night or two about it?” 

Bel copied him, “I think I can grant you a night or two.”

Then, Randall forgot to keep going with the conversation, getting lost looking at her. All so unusual. As for him, she always tried to appear as neat as possible in the office, knowing her outer appearance was something people would hold against her if she would let flaws show. Seeing a smile grow on her face, he quickly glanced away. Startling out of his state by looking at his watch, “Well, I think it’s time.”

“Yes, indeed,” Bel hadn’t been aware how time had passed. 

They both came back to their feet, and Bel took the plates back into the kitchen, while Randall went to get his coat on. 

“Anyway,” she leaned against the counter, watching him get dressed, “thank you for helping me out.”

He smirked, followed by a soft blush he hoped got lost in the dim lighting, “I am sure we can find the connection part for your telly.”

“I’ll try to get by a store tomorrow during lunch break,” Bel quickly cleaned her hands with a tea towel and held her hand out to Randall. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Randall took it, “for dinner. Given the fact of rumours, you can’t cook, I was pleasantly surprised.”

It educed a snicker from Bel, “charmingly said. Good night, Randall. See you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” he gave her a short nod before shuffling out of her apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lix and Bel have an interesting conversation.

It had been a long day with Randall being out and about at the upper floors. I need to pursue the board and the leading media manager Robert Brixton that the Hour was coming back to old success soon. At the same time, Bel had tried to find a needle in a haystack, the one big story that would bring them back to old shine. The parliament was doing the usual summer break, so nothing was happening. Even McCain had nothing to hand over. It was unbelievably dull inside of England. That’s why Bel had gone to read the foreign reports, trying to find the one story that would interest the British viewer. Trying to find the one crisis in the world that was worth doing a 60 minutes lengthy broadcast about it. 

“How about this?” Bel placed a finger on one little paragraph in the newspaper. 

Lix, who had sat down at her table looking over some teleprinter outline, walked over to take a glimpse. “What does it say?” obviously she couldn’t read the text bottom up. 

“French paratroopers from the Algerian corps landed on Corsica,” Bel read quickly, looking up then, waiting for Lix’s approval.

“We had the Algerian war already way too much,” she said with a sigh. Only to add when seeing Bel’s pleading expression, “any note about casualties?”

Rereading the text, Bel slumped herself back into the rest of her chair, “no.” 

“Sorry, but you know, an occupation without someone dying is…,” Lix shrugged and went back to the table.

“I know.” With a sigh, she rubbed her tired eyes for a moment. When a thought hit her, “Oh damn!”

“What? What is it?” 

“Remember; my telly is not working,” Bel pulled a face, “I wanted to go to the shops getting me a spare part. I forgot about it. Bugger!”

Lix snickered, “Well, missing an episode of  _ Emergency – Ward 10 _ , won’t ruin your day, will it?”

“Very funny!” Bel tried to come up with a plan on how to spend the evening, shuffling a few papers around. “What about you? Fancy a drink? We haven’t done that for a while.”

The question made Lik glance at her watch, giving it a surprised ‘ah’, “Yes, I do,” she threw her friend an apologizing look. “But not with you. Sorry, darling.”

Bel frowned, looking over to Lix. There was something in her behaviour that made Bel suspicious. First, Lix was always in for a drink, and second, she definitely was avoiding eye contact. 

“Hold on a minute!” They had been around each other for a couple of years, and finally, it paid off. Bel had a hunch quickly, “are you dating someone?”

About to walk to the door, Lix smirked, dragging from her cigarette, “Even if so…”

The hesitation of her friend was all Bel needed. Quickly she raised, paced over, around Lix and closed the door of her office. Blocking the exit with herself, not willing to let Lix go without a confession. 

“What are you going to do, Darling?” Lix arms went akimbo, amused. “Interrogate me?”

“Yes!” 

Considering Bel, Lix wobbled with her head from left to right a few times, thinking through the possibilities. “When I say yes— “

“— Oh my god!”

Lix’s mouth turned into a thin line. “Don’t be unbearable! I am not dead yet!” Lix made a step back, chuckling. “I only have a drink with someone. That’s it. It’s not a crime, is it?”

Bel bit her lower lip, her eyes becoming small lines. “Do I know the lucky fella?”

Lix considered her for a moment, and then decided she would be too late, when not telling her. In the end, Bel would find out anyway, “The name of the lucky fella, as you put it, is Pete Mitchell. I met him at the foreign desk conference last month.”

“Foreign desk conference?” Bel murmured. “Such a thing really exists?”

“I am sure there is a producer conference too, somewhere,” Lix went to stub her cigarette in Bel’s astray, smirking over the joke. Turning back to her, she could see how Bel’s brain was rattling with the new information Lix had provided. The girl needed a boyfriend!

“Pete Mitchell? Don’t tell me he is American!”

“We all have our mistakes,” she shrugged, standing by Bel’s desk, waiting for the blonde to finally release her. “He works for ABC, overbroad. We’ve met before, ten years ago, and when we met at the conference it was…” she trailed off.

“It was what?” Bel pressed, now hooked by the story. When there was no news in the whole of England, she had to take what she could get elsewhere. 

“Nice.” 

“Nice?” she repeated, almost a little ashamed she was so keen with the gossip. It was Lix, they were friends, and a bit of nagging could never hurt. “How… nice?” A blush appeared in Lix’s cheeks, and because she was as pale as any working English woman, it was a huge giveaway. Bel’s mouth went agape. “Alexis Storm!”

“Oh, stop it!” 

For a moment, Bel seemed satisfied, willing to let Lix go. Then her brain found another string to pull at, “What’s… what’s with Randall?”

Lix raised an eyebrow, an amused expression on her lips. It wasn’t a question she had expected. “What’s with him?”

Feeling it hadn’t been the best string to tug at, but now too late, “I always thought, you and him…,” Bel lost courage. “I just thought…Sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have told you about … my past,” Lix sighed. It had been a moment of too much alcohol and weakness. “Randall and me, that’s history. We’ve talked about it, after… well, you know.” 

“Yes.”

Knowing Bel would let her go, she made a step forward only to stop herself, “I mean I love him. And he loves me,” she made a gesture with her hands so Bel would understand what kind of love Lix meant, “but sometimes love can’t keep things together. Sometimes love can’t heal everything. It hadn’t worked back then, it wouldn’t work these days.”

“Why?”

Lix searched for the words that always had been there, but she never had dared to speak. Why she was about to tell them to Bel, was a mystery of its own. “There are trades that come with Randall, I can’t accept, and there are some that come with me, he can’t accept. We’d always have bounced off each other, but we always went one step too far. We didn’t know the end of it, and we wouldn’t know it these days.”

Staring only at her friend, unsure if she should be sad or happy for her Bel decided for a befuddled expression. 

Lix read in her and stepped forward, giving her a soft nug against the upper arm. A signal everything was okay. “Is the Spanish inquisition finished now? I have a date!”

“Oh-f course!” Bel broke into a laugh. “I want to hear every detail!”

Lix’s lips pursed, “ _ Every _ detail?”

In horror, Bel’s eyebrows came up, “Oh my goodness! Why are you so naughty?”

“What’s with you, by the way? Didn’t you have a date a couple of weeks ago? With this… this Doctor? Thompson, wasn’t that his name?” she remembered Bel had it mentioned briefly. 

“I did, it wasn’t bad, but… oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged. The man had slipped her memory already. “He left to Danmark, for a lecture tour.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Thanks for the condolences, but right now, I am happy without any male interference.”

“Well, I am not!” Lix winked at her.

“You are impossible, Lix!” Bel handed over her purse.

She grabbed it and left her office; “As said, not dead yet. And sorry for passing on the drink, but I’ll promise we do it another time.”

Bel watched Lix walk down the corridor and then returned to her desk. Once again, she glanced at the watch. No, the shop would be closed already, and she cursed her forgetfulness. The documentation Randall had mentioned had drawn her interest and also her hope to get out some ideas for something they could talk about the upcoming broadcasting. Usually, she would sink herself further in paperwork, but there was nothing left. 

“Oh, well,” she huffed. There were still a couple of books she hadn’t got to yet.

A knock against her door frame let her raise her head. Immediately a smile appeared on her lips. “Randall! I was almost convinced they have taken you hostage over at the upper floors.”

Lowering his head slightly, he tried to hide a smirk, before touching his tie, “I’d expect you’ll bail me out when it comes to it.” 

As he was wearing his coat, she guessed he had come back from the main office only just now. Probably only having come back to get his things — she had expected him back hours ago. With a smile she walked over to get her coat from the hanger, “Can’t let this ship go down without my Head of News, can I? How did it go?”

“The usual back and forth.” He glanced down the newspapers on her desk from his usual spot in the middle of the room. 

Half in her coat, she halted. By now she could read Randall very well. Putting his nose more into newspapers as into her direction couldn’t mean anything good, “Is it that bad?”

He turned to her, “Mister Brixton isn’t happy about the current situation. The other board members are slightly more positive about us, but …”

“He is the one with the loudest voice.” Bel never had had much sympathy for Brixton, who always seemed nice. Still, he had an evident resentment regarding women in higher positions. “We need a miracle, Randall.”

He gave a scoffing laugh, “You have one in your pocket by any chance?”

Playfully she reached into both sides, showing her empty hands, “No. Have you?”

A playful smirk appeared on his lips, while he shoved his left hand into his pocket and Bel caught upon it immediately frowning at him. “Not a miracle. But! I start from the premise, you haven’t come by the shops today, have you?”

“No. I was trying to find a miracle, Randall,” she advocated for her forgetfulness. 

He opened up his hand, “I thought so.” A small silver piece resting in his palm. 

With delight, she took the piece out of his hand, “You shouldn’t have!” 

“No, I shouldn’t, but strangely enough the store was on the route,” Randall turned a bit awkward on the spot pointing in some direction. 

“Is that actually true?” Bel twisted the part a couple of times. In the back of her head already trying to figure out how to attach it to her telly. 

His answer came without delay, “No, but let’s do as if you give me the benefit of the doubt.”

For a moment Bel considered Randall. 

After Freddie’s death, they both had become painfully aware of how they shared similar damage. Lix had told Bel in a moment of weakness about the daughter she had given to adoption. Too young, she had been. Too weak and too egomaniac to give up her career for a child. At that point in her life, so Lix to Bel, she hadn’t been able to love herself. How to love a child? It was way better with foster parents. That the decision came in a time of crisis for the world and led to the child’s death, no one could foresee. The father? Bel had asked. The answer was a mere shake of the head. Randall Brown and Lix Storm shared the gift to make it very clear when they did not want to talk about something, that’s why they probably had fit together so well. 

_ ‘When Hector enquired how well I knew Mister Brown, I said not at all. Please don’t make me lie to you as well.’  _

Bel had put one and one together, figuring out this was also Randall’s story.

Eight days after Freddie’s burial, Bel had returned to work. A new costume, a darkish blue which accentuated her eyes. A strict hairdo and her lips red as ever. After taking off her coat, she had gone to Randall’s office, taking a stance in silence. She was back, ready to do whatever was necessary to bring back the Hour, to heal whatever was damaged — at any cost. And Randall had never asked where she had been, what she had done. The only thing he knew was that she had come to an agreement with the universe. Bel appreciated it. Sometimes there was a silence between them, not awkward, but reassuring and pleasant. Or the accommodation of his to push back the Monday conference half an hour only for her. The way she sometimes placed her hand on his upper arm, when he was about to fire Hector once again, whispering “it is okay”. They had bonded over a topic they never spoke about. An universal grief ready to bring them down, but as they had each other, they didn’t give up. 

“Do you…,” Randall brought her back into the now, “do you want me to…?” 

She had wondered how to ask him and was relieved he brought the topic up. It also gave her a little easy that he wasn’t sure either how to approach the subject. “Would you?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to get electrocuted.” 

“Very funny,” she hesitated, glancing at the clock. “I appreciate your help. Whenever you have time at hand.”

“How about… now?” he suggested. “Only when you don’t have any other plans, of course.”

Now Bel was even glad, Lix couldn’t have found the time for a drink, “No plans at all!” It sounded more exciting as it should have been. 

It rose a smirk on Randall’s lips. As she had agreed, he offered her the ladies first out of her office. Together they went for the lift.

“I need to warn you, there is no more dinner I can offer. We ate it all yesterday.”

Randall hummed thoughtful, waiting for the metal doors to open, “When I am not mistaken, I saw a fish ‘n chips not far from your place.” Their eyes met. “My treat.”

“You— “

“— I want to,” he said low. Then his hand found his tie again, unsure if he wasn’t too fast forward. “Just an idea.”

“I like that idea — a lot.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel and Randall meet a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in the days, I was still active on Tumblr, I used to design banners and manips for my fics because I am a hopeless cause. Luckily, I still can add them here on AO3. Just in case someone begins to wonder. I have some others and maybe add them too here and there.

  
  


It was the easiest thing to exchange the part on Bel’s telly. The moment Randall had attached it, the screen lost all the white snow and flickering and broadcasted the channel 6 weather report. 

Bel cheered, happy the problem was finally solved, “It’s working!” Clapping once her hands, she beamed at Randall who had taken his jacket off again. 

He breathed out in relief, “should do the deed for a while now.” 

While washing his hands, Bel prepared the food they had picked up on the way to her apartment. Beside Bel had tried to intervene, Randall had insisted to not only pay the spare part but also the fish n chips. As they used to argue enough already in the office, she had kept silent, after he had told her, “Please, don’t even argue.”

“Did you miss Fish n’ Chips? Back in Paris?” Bel had just swallowed an almost too large piece of chips when curiosity hit her. 

“Uhm,” it was not a question he had asked himself, “I guess.”

“You guess?” she laughed at him. 

He dipped his fork into the tartar sauce, sheepishly, “I didn’t sit in my office, staring at the Seine, telling myself how much I miss Fish’n Chips.”

Bel lowered her fork, looking at him in disbelief, “You could see the Seine from your office?”

“A tiny bit of it,” he smirked. 

A long huff escaped Bel, “I’ve never been to Paris.”

Aware of her job resume, he enquired nevertheless, “Have you ever been to France?”

With a soft thud, she placed the food away, “I am not even been to Swindon, Randall,” it didn’t sound too sad, “France is like another planet for me.”

They both shared an unsmiling expression. Randall began to nod solemnly, visibly feeling guilty. Then Bel exploded with laughter, “It’s okay, you know there are two types of journalists. The one who goes out to report and the one who stays home. You are the one having reported from the end of the world. Me — at least sometimes — from the edge of my seat.”

“When I was beginning to report away from home, the most important thing wasn’t my camera or my notebook.” He placed his finished plate onto hers, “it was the contact at home. The one person I could call to report. The one person I could send my stories to. Both kinds are necessary, so there is no shame for sticking to the edge of your seat.”

“Still… .” 

For a moment it seemed to Randall as if she wanted to say more to it, but then decided it wasn’t the time. Instead of elaborating, she was about to get lost in thought. “Croissants.”

“Mh?”

“I miss croissants,” he clarified. And then leaned in conspiratorially, “I grieve for them! Have you ever had croissants?”

“They are hard to get by in London.”

“They are.” And then a proud smile appeared on his lips, she hadn’t seen too often. “There is a bakery up in Stratford, run by french immigrants. It’s a horrendous drive, but worth it.”

“I never thought you were a man all over croissants, Randall,” leaned in telling him in the same conspiratorial tone as he had done before.

“We have all our secrets, Bel.” Then Randall went to clean the plates away throwing it all in the bin before he went to wash his hands in the sink. All under Bel’s observant glances. 

When he joined her again in front of the sofa, Bel rested her head onto the seating surface behind her, turning it so she could see Randall. 

He had seen that kind of look quite a few times from her. All curious, but unsure if it was the time and place to follow the urge of asking. “What? You look like you want to ask me something?”

“I do,” she smirked coy. “I fear you’ll be angry with me.”

His eyebrows twitched, wondering what it could be about. Wondering if he should indulge or not, “If it is about a pay raise,” he began, but Bel stopped him with a short giggle. “I won’t be angry. I’ll promise.”

Biting the inner of her lower lip, she decided it was worth the hard feelings, “Do you have a girlfriend, Randall?” 

Randall Brown had heard many questions in his life. Some had surprised him, some had even shocked him, but this one made him speechless.

Bel couldn’t even tell where the curiosity came from. When she had watched him clean the leftovers aside, she thought of him as a kind and caring example of a man. Sure that Hector wouldn’t clean the house, it seemed Randall was something a lot of women would be lucky to have. Of course, Randall was so much more. And that it was, that there was not much she knew about her Head of News, “are you angry now?”

“No,” one finger of his tugged at his tie about to lose it slightly, “I am embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“I-I don’t know,” he swallowed hard but kept his calm. “You are very straight forward.”

The remark sent blood into her cheeks and ears. So much, she felt the burn. 

“One could guess it’s a game of Truth or Dare.” 

Turning with her body, she rested her head onto her hand now, “Maybe it is,” she knew exactly how she sounded and saw he was indeed embarrassed. Still, he was not making any notions of leaving so, “it’s just a question, Randall. I wondered. I shouldn’t have asked.”

There were few people he talked about personal things with. And mostly he didn’t talk about who he was befriended with - in such way. Without having asked Bel, he knew she had no boyfriend but had been with the man from Undercover for a bit. It was floor news. 

“What do you think?” he found himself saying. 

She hadn’t expected him to retort, but then again this was very much Randall. “I don’t think you have.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you are always the first in office,” she began, letting her eyes trail around the room. Sorting her thoughts about the matter, “and you are always the last leaving. I have never seen you with anyone. Maybe because you keep it a private matter, but when I am honest, you don’t seem to have the time for someone.” Another thought popped up in her head, “you also wouldn’t spend your Saturday evening with me, when you had, wouldn’t you?”

A laugh escaped him, “I guess, I wouldn’t. Impressive deduction skill.”

“I’ve read a lot of Sherlock Holmes when I was younger,” she winked at him. 

Afterwards, a pause arose in which Bel kept an eye on him, and he tried to hold her observant look, but couldn’t. It wasn’t a trial, he had to prove nothing, so he let his eyes wander around the room. Then a soft sigh escaped him, his eyes fixed at some point near the kitchen.

It was Bel breaking the silence, not because it was uncomfortable, “It’s been a long year.” She just had to tell someone. 

Randall understood. It felt the same for him, and the year wasn’t even over yet. He turned to her, his arms resting on his knees, “You miss him.”

Having fixed a point across the room, she nodded, “What else could I do, mh?”

A sad laugh came over his lips. He knew that feeling. “You and Freddie…,” he waited for her to tell him it wasn’t right to speak about it. When nothing of that sorts came, “...you were…?” 

“No,” she smirked, remembering Freddie how he once tried to juggle with four oranges, while not even being able to do it with three. “We… We’ve known each other since being kids. He was my best friend.” 

There was something specific Bel wanted to express toward Randall but wasn’t able to find the word, so she decided to tell a story instead. She was a newsperson, she was pretty good with stories. 

“There are moments when I sit in my office, hitting down the letters onto my typewriter. It’s then when I hear the elevator go. When I hear a certain walking pattern echoing over the floor, you know? No matter how deep I am absorbed into my work, I am looking up, fixing the door, being sure it’s just ten more seconds and Freddie will stand there. With his stupid grin, telling me, it was all a big mistake. That he isn’t dead and was just doing some vacation in Puerto Rico or some ridiculous place.” 

The huff she gave was a mix of laughter and trying not to spill tears. Feeling Randall look at her she turned her head at once, “but it’s never him. It’s never going to happen.” 

With a sniff, she brushed away a single tear with the palm of her left hand. “He is gone, and I can’t bring him back, and that’s okay. That’s how it is. He and I, we made many mistakes — with each other obviously. It’s me now, who has to live with it, and I do. It’s nothing that makes me always happy, but… I try. I do.”

At that point, Randall was sure that Bel Rowley was probably one of the bravest women he had ever met. 

“And you?”

“Me?” they both knew what she meant. 

“Are you happy?” They never had talked about it. There were just the rumours that weren’t rumours at all, plus two sad faces belonging to the foreign desk and the Head of News for a few months. Till Bel had noticed, they had decided to move on from the hole in their life the missing daughter had created so long ago. Lix had told her and Randall was aware of it, so no reason to either deny or confirm it. 

Randall’s right foot brushed an inch back and forth over the carpet. “Sometimes happiness is watching your kids playing at the beach, watching them growing up,” he began. “Sometimes it’s exactly the same, except it’s not your kids you are watching but someone else’s.” 

Bel inhaled sharply aware how much Randall was just about to open up to her, revealing what never had been talked about. 

“As you said, humans — we — make many mistakes,” Randall took off his glasses, rubbing over his eyes. “Happiness is to live with it beside them being mistakes.” 

Without thinking Bel, a few more silent tears on her cheek, reached out with her hand, cupping his cheek. Assuring him, like he had assured her in many quiet ways, that he wasn’t alone. 

Taking her hand with his, he stilled by his mouth for a moment, as if to consider kissing her knuckles but then just covered it with his other hand, giving her a soft smile. A moment of closeness.

“What time is it,” he inhaled then, suddenly letting go of her, as if being caught.

Bel cleared her throat and brushed her tears away, “Eleven, I think.”

“I keep you up late,” Randall stumbled to his feet and reached out a hand to help Bel to do the same. “I think it’s time to leave. There’ll be a long day on Monday. The board members coming in for the work lunch. We shouldn’t…”

“Yes, of course!” Bel nodded, walking over to take his jacket from the stool and waited till he had slipped it on. “It’s working!” she pointed at the telly. “I can’t say thank you enough.”

“Well,” Randall let his fingers feel around the knot of his tie a couple of times. “I can’t tell you to watch ITV without a telly, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All input is welcome! Thanks for following this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pastries.

Having just arrived half an hour ago, Bel had sunken down into the chair by the small table to get absorbed by the newspapers she had picked up downstairs. When it knocked at her door, she was still wearing her coat. With an acknowledging grunt, she shuffled out of it and ripped the door wide open, finding Randall in front of it. 

“Randall! Did I miss a meeting?” It had happened before, and she always feared it happen again. “I got absorbed by the papers,” her look fell to his hands. Right in front of him, he was holding a brown bag. 

“No, you didn’t,” he stepped inside and held out the bag. “I allowed myself to bring you something.”

The choice of words made Bel look at him in amusement. Taking the bag from him in curiosity but also suspicion she slowly unrolled the top. Soon the faint smell of fresh-baked pastry reached her nose, “Did you really?” She looked at him with wide-open eyes.

A little coy was his response, “I thought you might enjoy some.”

In the bag were three croissants. 

“Are these fresh?” Bel reached for one. It was warm. “You drove all the way to Stradford buying these?” 

Unprepared for any kind of exaggerated reaction, Randall moved on the spot. “I… yes.” He had stood up an hour earlier, driving to the bakery, unsure if it was even open. 

Guessing Randall would with high chances shy away, she’d denied herself kissing him on the cheek. In lieu, she gave him her broadest smile and reached out, holding the croissant out to him. “You shouldn’t have, but I am glad you did! I insist we share.”

Agreeing Randall grabbed it from her hand and waited till Bel had freed her pastry from the bag. When she bit from it, a short moan escaped her. With eyes closed, she announced; “Tell me, we have the expanses left to get a daily delivery.”

“I fear so not,” without taking a bite; he watched Bel with approval devour the croissant. “Good?” 

Bel opened her eyes and considered to kiss him nevertheless, “I love them!” 

Then the door went open, and Hector came in holding a croissant in hand, on corner already in his mouth he was still chewing when speaking, “Have you seen this?” 

Bel and Randall surveyed him. Bel with amusement and Randall with his usual stern expression, both holding onto their croissant. 

“I see you have.”

Bel put one and one together. Letting the message slip to Hector who the benefactor of the sweet breakfast was, “So you brought some for all?” 

Randall shuffled nervously around. It had been a horrendous drive, and it only seemed logical to buy as much as possible. Fact, he purchased all - 12 - that there were in that moment. “I couldn’t hold myself back.”

“Glad you didn’t, these are exceptional!” Hector rejoiced, and none of the others would have believed he could be so over food. “Where did you buy them? I need to tell Marnie about it.” Hector already marvelled if his talented wife would be able to recreate them. 

“I’ll let you know,” Randall said when Lix, Isaac and Sissy entered the room. They also had a croissant each in hand.

“Ah!” Lix let her looks roam around the room. “Are those croissants due to you, Mister Brown?” he nodded merely. “For a moment, I was certain to believe it was July 14th. And then I realised it’s not, so I came to ask why?” 

Bel saw that Randall had not reckoned with his staff being all over the treat, giving him so much attention then. Lowering the croissant in his hand, he brushed over his sleeve, “There doesn’t need to be always a reason, Miss Storm.”

Lix and Bel shared a glance, but Bel just bit from her croissant in delight. 

“The problem with you is that there is always a reason. Does the BBC shorten our wages?” Lix went on with her teasing. 

“You mean, this is me softening the blow? Quiet an idea to remember when it comes to it,” he gave a thin smirk, and tugged one corner of the croissant off, taking a bit then. 

“I dare to take those cuts when they give us these every day,” Isaac spoke up, making everyone turn. 

“Isaac!” Sissy bumped against his arm with her elbow.

“No!” Hector exclaimed, only to take half the croissant from Isaac, whose eyes grew wide in shock. “Well, maybe...” the rest of his words got lost over his chewing.

Isaac protested, “Hey, that was mine!” and so Lix reached out her pastry.

“Take mine Mister Wengrow; I’ve heard this french cuisine only plays games with the size of my hips.” 

“Oh,” Isaac blushed but didn’t ask her to reconsider. Taking it from her, he also took a step away from Hector making Sissy giggle. 

“Come on, Lix,” Bel laughed heartily, “It’s one pastry!” 

“Darling, you don’t have to worry, but when you get to my tender age, you’ll understand,” Lix winked and watched Isaac bite in delight into her croissant. “Anyway, Mister Brown, what a pleasant surprise.”

Randall bowed to Lix before she left, followed by Hector and the two youngsters, leaving Bel and him alone again. 

Bel watched him eat the last bit of the corner he had yanked off, “Thank you.”

“It’s just croissants, not need to— “

“— this moment I mean,” she stopped him, reaching for the bag on the table, where one croissant was left in, “for a moment it all felt … like a family again. Lix, Hector, the others. We didn’t have that since…”

They often had gathered in his or her office. Discussing political topics, sometimes getting loud and angry with each other, sometimes telling jokes and enjoying the company of each other. Smoking. Drinking. Having a bag of fish n’ chips. Till midnight and even longer. The Hour, as family. After Freddie’s death, those moments had become fleeting and rare. 

“... yes,” he gave her a soft smile and tapped the bag with one finger, “take it, I keep it with Miss Storm, too much of them will ruin my appearance. You are too young to worry about that.”

Later.

“Busy?” Randall’s head peaked into Bel’s office. One foot in the room, the other unsure to follow. 

“Always,” was her answer after she had looked up, having to smile when she realised it was Randall. Bel knew she didn’t seem busy, as she was sitting on her desk doing nothing but staring at the articles at the wall for an hour by now. Letting her thoughts wander. Sissy had said something to her, asking for advice, but Bel couldn’t help. And without grave intention, Sissy had said, “Freddie would know.” 

With a gesture, she pointed at the chair and Randall entered but kept standing. 

“Did you get to watch part three of the ITV documentation?”

“Yes, I have,” Bel checked her hairdo, biding a bit time. “You? What do you think?”

In an attempt to say the next best thing, Randall opened his mouth before stopping himself. It ended in a murmur, “Well,...”

Bel stepped around the desk, leaning against it with a chuckle, “seems we think the same.”

“I am not sure what to make of it,” Randall began to explain his judgment, “it’s not bad at all, but it’s not…”

“It’s not novel,” she ended for him and saw him nod. Then for a second Bel thought there was something else he wanted to say, but decided against it. When he was close to leaving again, she made a step forward, “Funny; I missed you yesterday.” With both eyebrows in a raised line, Randall turned on his heels. Bel blushed violently. The sentence had sounded more innocent in her head. “I mean… what I wanted to say… as we watched the other two parts together, it felt a bit off yesterday.” A groan escaped her. It wouldn’t get any better. “Oh, gosh, forget what I just said.”

“No,” Randall stepped back inside. “I thought the same.”

“Did you?” With that, they had reached a dead-end, when none of them would push the subject further. Bel knew it wasn’t actually upon her, but she also knew Randall was way too polite to push. “You are going to watch?”

“I will,” he answered, sensing there was more to her question. “You?”

Bel shrugged with one shoulder, smiling gently at him, “I think I have to. My Head of News will surely be quizzing me about it.”

Suddenly Randall’s tie felt bound a tad too tight, and without his approval, his hand began to fiddle with the knot.

Fiddling with the tips of her fingers, Bel decided it was worth a trie, “We could watch it together, though.”

“Uhm.” He had known she would ask and was still overrun by it.

“A work meeting,” Bel added quickly, seeing his hesitation. “Nothing inappropriate about that. Only if you want to, of course. Just an idea.”

When the knot felt in place again, Randall managed a smile, “No, I like that idea — a lot.” Shoving his sleeve back to check the time, he calculated a few time-consuming phone calls around in his head, “I’ll come by and pick you up. Let’s say in an hour. An hour and a half at most.”

Bel nodded, watching him leave the room with one of his reluctant smiles, before poking along around her desk back to her chair, “Looking forward to it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third meeting and it all gets finally set into motion .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter ended up a bit long. And I added another Manip. Sorts of a book cover.

“Pasta!” Bel turned when the door to her apartment was finally open. “It’s leftovers, but good as any. Hungry?”

Following her into the apartment, he took off his coat and hung it up in front of Bel’s. Then he took off his shoes, not even wondering if he should wait for an allowance. He was in her place the third time and had seen her work around his stupid door a lot now. He was accustomed to her home by now. The red cardigan that always hung over the sofa edge, the non-existing dinner table—the personal scent of Bel in the air. 

“I won’t say no.” He placed his hat on top of the stacks of magazines then.

Bel left with a satisfied smile into her bedroom, to change into the casual clothes again. Also, having come at ease with Randall in her place, she quickly changed into her grey jumper and the black slacks. Then she went into the kitchen, watching Randall turn the telly on — putting it on mute. The day before she had cooked up some noodles with a meat sauce, making subconsciously or maybe even deliberately a bit too much—the leftovers enough for two.

While Bel heated the food, Randall took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves as usual. 

“I fear the orange juice is out, but I got tonic water,” she pointed at the fridge and Randall went to open two bottles. 

“The board is pressing us for the position in Berlin,” Randall had wandered around in her place, sipping from his tonic water. 

“How long do we have left?”

“It’s not said explicitly, but I gather… two weeks at most.”

“Two weeks?” Bel almost let slip the spoon she stirred the food around. “What are they expecting? We grow someone in the backyard out of soil and … pencils?” 

Turning, he gave her an amused expression, “pencils?”

“Oh!” she shrugged embarrassed. “What are the options?”

“They are limited; it’s either Miss Storm or Mister Wengrow.” With that, he went to lean beside her against the counter.

For a second Bel was about to lose it over the fact that the board was putting so much pressure onto them. The show was having a hard time anyway, “Lix or Isaac! That’s like choosing between your best horse race and ….”

“... the inexperienced greenhorn.” 

Bel was glad he had finished it for her because she would have said definitely something else. “It’s like they want us to lose.”

“The spot The Hour inherits is fiercely disputed.” Bel pointed at the cabinet and Randall went to get two plates for them. “I am sure there are a few who would like to succeed us.” 

“What do we do?” Bel turned to him, her voice sounding desperate. She wasn’t willing to part from Lix, and Isaac wasn’t ready at all. 

Randall grabbed the plates Bel had filled with food, holding them left and right, “We eat. Never make decisions on an empty stomach.”

Bel spared him the teasing question if this was him having no idea what they should do, and took one of the plates. Together they settled in front of the telly and Randall turned back on the sound. 

Watching the last part of the documentation, they shared a few remarks while eating. And when the end credits rolled, Bel sighed as if she was happy the ordeal of the program was over, “Tell me what you want, but ITV has the same problems as we do. It was not necessary to stretch this out over four hours!”

“I agree,” Randall emptied his tonic water, “and I am sure they are aware of it too. At least they had a plan to fill their void, and that’s why they are better than us at the moment.”

“You know what is worst? You are right; you are! We’ve been lacking, and did nothing to change that!” Bel began to slide into a rage and self-pity.

“Stop it!” he reached out, touching her by the shoulder. “It’s not true; we are working day and night to get back on track. You know that. We mustn’t let the situation control us, but we the situation.”

“I know,” with a clicking of her tongue, Bel rose and went to the fridge to get them both another tonic water. Putting the bottles in front of her, she went to open them, but her look fell upon Randall, where it kept stuck. 

“Bel?”

Hearing her name let Bel inhale a stream of air, ripping herself out of her thoughts, “Sorry. It’s nothing.” 

Unable to look at him again, she joined him and gave him his drink. 

As to answer, Randall took the drink, tilted his head and looked at her till she looked back at him, “Be honest with me,” his hand came up. Gently tapping against her forehead with one finger, “something is going round in there.”

“Just a thought coming back to me,” she tried to sidetrack. 

Randall’s eyes went wide, hoping to encourage her, “So?” 

For another moment, Bel chuted on her bottom, being unsure if to answer and then to her surprise, it broke out of her, “Nobody chooses to be alone.” And added after a moment, “but you, ... you do.”

For some reason, the conversation they had had the last time didn’t let go of him as he had hoped. All Sunday, he found his mind going back to Bel, asking if he was involved with someone. Not because he had been embarrassed but because it had something put in motion inside of him. “Why would I do that?”

She turned to sit straight again letting her head once more rest on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, “There are many reasons,” It was easier to talk to him that way. “One reason is, you are a keeper. You are not one for affairs. You are very careful, choosing someone you trust, and more choosing someone you want to spend your life with.”

Randall hummed, having mirrored her position, looking at the ceiling. Bel had put obviously much thought into her observations. The telling about Sherlock Holmes hadn’t been a lie.

“There is something else too,” she tilted her head, and he did too. 

“Tell me.”

“I think you’ve been hurt, so much that you can’t bear to be hurt another time, so you keep yourself busy,” after speaking it out, she quickly realised it was one step too much and broke eye contact. 

“I am sorry, Bel,” he sighed, getting back into a more straight position, “that’s not quite right.”

Her head came up, afraid she had indeed overstepped her boundaries, “so what did I assume wrong? You said quite right.”

“It’s the other way round.” Randall pushed himself up and sat on the sofa. “I have hurt people so much, and I think it’s better to stay away.”

Of course, she thought, it had been her mistake. She followed to sit on the couch, “Isn’t that too hard of a punishment?”

“Why do you care, Bel?” he rubbed his hands over his knees. It had been a lovely evening, and it was about to change suddenly. Ending on a wrong term. “I am just someone, past his prime bachelor, who has decided to be alone. It’s nothing important.”

Bel brought one leg under herself, turning toward him slightly agitated, “I am making news all my life, I met so many people and no matter how small the report was. It was never unimportant. You can fool them all, Randall. You can even try it with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one chooses to be alone, not even you,” there was no need to hold back now, “but then there is work, you’ve been busy, years pass, and then you realise you became afraid of asking someone out.” 

Suddenly Randall got up from the seating area, making a lung forward turning back to Bel, “It’s my life.”

“It is,” Bel stood up, realising she had pushed Randall into a position he didn’t feel comfortable with. It hadn’t been her intention to begin a feud. “I am sorry that was unforgiving,” searching his hat with her eyes, she found it on the sideboard and went over grabbing it. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought,” she held his hat out by the brim. It seemed clear to her he would now take his things and go home. 

With an angry stride, Randall came to a halt in front of her, looking down at her hands and his hat. Grabbing the crown, he snapped it out of her hands. 

This way, Bel never had seen her Head of News. A wave of visible anger, the way his lips pressed together, trying to hide the tension in his jaw only making him look almost dangerous. Folding her hands in front of her, her head dropping a little, she knew she must look like a scolded schoolgirl. Back in the days, when the teacher of her boarding school became riled up by her, she tended to stand precisely like that. 

And then, Randall’s expression became first natural, then soft. Regret washing away the ire. The hat got placed back carefully to its place on the sideboard while Bel watched him confused.

“You are right,” Randall’s voice had a gentle tone, “with everything you deduced,” he watched her untangle her hands, “and I am sorry when I frightened you. If you want me to leave, I will, but when you let me stay, I … I would regret ending the evening on bad terms.” As Bel kept standing on the spot, staring at him in a mix of shock and lost for words, Randall shuffled slightly back. He realised how unforgiving his outbreak must be for her. Quickly he grabbed the hat again, “Of course I am leaven. What do I think it was —”

“— He wrote to me!” she blurted. “Freddie,” it was the only thing that was coming to her mind. Opening up to something they had discussed on their first evening. Now, at this moment, it seemed correct to come back to it. To open up about it. “From America. To come. Fly over.”

Randall looked at the expression in her face. He was familiar with such emotions. Freddie had told him about America back in Paris, and about brilliant Bel Rowley. As she wasn’t with him in France, he could now be sure she hadn’t followed. “You didn’t.”

She gave an amused huff through her nose, trying to fight the feelings down that came with her story, “Obviously.”

Following the hat’s brim, turning it in a circle, he finally placed it away again. Randall pointed at the sofa, and Bel followed it. “Why not?”

“Many reasons I guess,” she sat down, leaning into one corner, her arms coming around her knees. “You weren’t there yet. After Mister Fenley had gone to prison and with Freddie gone, we were struggling hard. If I had left, the show would have been cancelled for sure. I felt… responsible!”

With a hum, Randall tried to see himself in her place. The news of Fenley being a communist spy had gone round like wildfire in all foreign departments. The minute Randall had heard of it, he was aware the position was going to be vacated. When Freddie appeared on the doorstep of the Parisien office, telling him he had worked in that particular office, it was like a sign to him. A couple of phone calls later, he had secured the Londoner position but was only able to take it a couple of months later. “Sounds reasonable. But there is more to it, isn’t there?”

“On one side, I was angry that Freddie wanted to lure me away. On the other hand, I regret that I didn’t go.”

“If you would have left,” Randall turned a bit more toward her, one arm on the rest behind him, “would you have regretted leaving the Hour behind?”

Bel looked at him. It was a rhetorical question. “He never spoke of it. Not of America, nor why he wanted me to be there. And I never told him that—” she stopped herself, feeling it would hurt to speak it out.

Randall had a hunch. “That what? That a letter was not enough?”

Before she answered, Bel looked at him and nodded, “Yes, a letter was not enough. Not back then,” she ruffled her hair, laughing, “I know it sounds so ridiculous.”

“No,” his hand touched her upper arm for a moment, “it’s not. The Hour is your … child, and Freddie wanted you to choose.”

“A while ago, Lix told me to get off the fairytale idea that some white knight in shining armour would come and rescue me. Can you imagine?” she had been angry for two days about Lix for saying it. It had been a weekend, so Lix hadn’t noticed. Randall was about to say something, and because Bel was Bel and knew him by now a bit, she decided to be faster as him, “No, I don’t need saving!”

This time Randall’s hand came around her forearm, making her calm down, without saying something. Just a genuine expression, hoping she would understand.

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know you don’t need saving,” his grip loosened slightly, but, he did not want to let go. “You wouldn’t be where you are in your career when you would need saving. Everything you accomplished, you had to fight for.”

“Yes.”

“I know how it will sound, but it’s nothing objectionable when someone needs saving. As much as it is legitimate to save someone else — even they don’t want it — and if it is for the sole purpose of them saving someone else later.”

“So, you’re telling me, a man like Randall Brown needs saving here and there?”

At first, he looked stern at her. Then his lips turned into a smirk, grasping the purpose of her question, “Everyone needs saving here and there. And it is okay, that’s all I am saying.”

“I should have gone — to America.” Bel let the words spread in its effect. “The truth is, I regret the things I never said to him.”

“It’s always the things you never say.”

“What is it you regret?”

“You pointed it out, minutes ago,” he glanced toward her window for a moment. It was pitch dark outside. “There is work, I’ve thrown myself into. I kept myself busy first with feeling guilty because of Lix and Sofia. Then I decided to keep myself busy trying to find her. Years pass, and one day I woke up realising that I was … alone.” Reading in Bel’s eyes, he continued with a brighter spirit. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like women didn’t try … not in exaggerating numbers, though. It wasn’t meant to be, I guess. I am not unhappy. But from time to time I do wonder…”

“It seems we are both full of regret then?” They both shared a chuckle. 

“Regret is also experiencing; we would never grow up without it. What kind of person would we be without all the struggles, hm?” His hand gave her a gentle nudge, and then he went to take the plates off the table and brought it into the kitchen.

Bel kept seated and only when she saw he was about to wash the dishes, she came over to ask him to stop. 

Raising on hand, already wet, he urged her to keep silent, “Please. Just let me.”

Knowing it made not much sense, she shrugged and leaned against the counter, watching his hands covered in foam cleaning the plates. They weren’t that dirty, but he took his time. At first, she guessed he simply wanted to be precise, only to understand that it solely relaxed him. 

“Four days ago, you came to repair my TV,” she then began, looking over to the stack of books he had sorted on his first day, “and now you stand in my kitchen cleaning the dishes.”

Drying the last glass carefully with a cloth, he turned to her, “and… what do you think about this kind of development?” It hadn’t failed his attention that they had become something else over the past couple of days. They had become closer as before, sharing little profound moments. 

He held out the glass to her, and Bel took it to put it back into the cupboard, “Can I be honest?”

“Always be.”

Turning toward him, she saw how he dried his hands and parts of his forearms with the fabric. All this casual appearance still baffled her, because she had begun to find it rather attractive. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

Placing the cloth aside, he began to nod while glancing at her feet. They weren’t that far apart from his. A hum escaped him, when he looked back at her, “I was married, when I was your age, did I ever tell you that?” Of course, he hadn’t. Nobody knew -- not even Lix.

The announcement let Bel Rowley’s already big eyes grow a little more. All while she tried not to choke up on her breath. 

Randall had expected such or similar reaction. Slightly amused, he continued, “Briefly. Six months to be precise. Wasn’t my wisest decision, but … did you malfunction now?”

“Six months?” she snapped then for air.

“Yes. It got annulled, so technically…”

“Annulled?” There were very few reasons marriages get annulled and none of those reasons fitted with the expectations she had with Randall. “How?”

When offering her something from his past, he thought he would be more serious and reluctant about it. Now, he was almost having fun. “I married her, left for the next war zone, and when I came back six months later, I found a letter, which stated that I wasn’t married anymore. I never asked. Her father was rich, and we were stupid.”

Still processing the information, Bel toddled over to the sofa, pushed the table away and sat in front of it. Not without staring at him as if Randall just had changed into a grey-haired stick insect, “Why… why are you telling me this?”

“I just wanted to offer something,” Randall answered crestfallen. “Something more as being this odd Head of News, with a broken relationship and a dead child,” he gave it a laugh while he slowly joined her. By now, he wasn’t even wondering why they sit together on the floor and not the sofa itself. By far, it was probably just their thing. “This story is probably not the best to change your impression of me. It just came to my mind. I am sorry.” 

“Do you believe I think so derogatory of you?” she sounded honestly concerned. 

Considering the question, he turned, leaning now with his side against the edge of the seating area. One arm and elbow supporting his head. “When I am honest, I don’t know what to make of the fact that I care what you think of me.”

“We should come back to the initial conversation.”

“That is?”

“We both know this was no dinner connected to work, Randall.” The words came without ceremony, while her heart was beating fast. Another moment went by, and Bel gathered the courage to reach out to Randall’s elbow. Her fingers trailing slowly upwards till she reached his bare forearm. 

The touch sent a shiver down Randall’s spine. She had touched him before when putting back on his watch or other occasions, but this time it was different. More intimate, something Randall hadn’t had for a long while. He felt his inner try to force some sense into his mind, and rebel against the pleasant feeling her touch unleashed in his chest. Slowly he let his arm sink toward her, let her hand take control of his arm. 

Sharing some nervous glances and coy smiles their hands found each other, their fingers slowly entangling. 

It was Bel who let a relieved laughter slip, pulling his hand to her mouth. A fleeting kiss pressed on his fingertips and the little sensation paired with the chance, allowed Randall to reach out to her face. He was brushing his hand against her cheek. Her skin warm and soft seemed to burn under his gentle touches.

A sudden inner turmoil began to build inside of Randall, and he disconnected carefully from her. When he stood up, Bel did the same quickly. 

“Randall?” Something was happening between them, and Randall seemed unsure of it. She guessed his careful opinion it was best to stop before it would begin. When he started to look for his belongings, Bel stepped up and reached out for his arm. Him turning to her touch and her stepping up brought her right in front of him. “Do I make you nervous? More nervous as the unsorted stack of magazines in the left corner?”

He frowned at her, unsure if there even was a stack of magazines, as he hadn’t noticed. Keeping with his eyes on her, he let them wander over Bel’s face. Indeed, this hadn’t been a meeting regarding work. It just had been a lie for the sake of them being more at ease. 

His hands reached out wanting to trail along her arms, but he was afraid to touch her. Unsure what it would make with him, so his hands did the motion with some air in between, “Slightly.”

As an answer, she made a small step forward. In reaction, Randall raised his hands letting them hover in a short distance beside. His face showed visible turmoil, but he didn’t step back. Then Bel saw his eyes twitch to her lips.

“Kiss me.”

“I don’t do games, Bel.”

Afraid it was the introduction of him announcing his final desire to leave, she reached for his hand, pressing it to her cheek once again, “And you think I do?” 

There was no right answer to it, so Randall kept silent. She didn’t expect a response anyway. 

“I know about my reputation on the floors of the Hour.” At the beginning, after her affair with Hector it had bothered her so much. “People look at me and talk. Even if they don’t want to, it’s a stigma to be over thirty and not married yet. Every man I date, no matter how serious it seems to be, is just another on an imaginary list that doesn’t even exist.” 

Society was a cruel thing she had to deal with all her life. To not be damaged further, she had decided at one point not to give a damn. 

“Don’t you think I am not aware why Hector says what he says sometimes? I like him, very much as I like them all. The problem is not that I broke his heart with our short but lit affair, but his tiny stupid ego when rejecting him.” She couldn’t be sure what Randall knew about the affair that had happened before his time. Still, he was smart and undoubtedly good with reading the office gossip and with the information she provided at this very moment, he was able to put one and one together. 

“The problem with you is, you are not only beautiful and clever, but you are also very aware of your surroundings,” his thumb trailed carefully along the edge of the red lipstick, barely touching. “You wouldn’t ask me when you wouldn’t know I wanted.” 

“Do you think they speak the truth about me?” 

“I don’t,” they had come a long way. “There lays a dangerous consequence in your request.” 

He’d fall for her, so very badly. Not with a kiss but with the absence of more to follow in case she decided he wasn’t good enough. 

“There are consequences for both of us,” Bel reminded, only to be left by her courage in an instant. She reached for his hand, leading it away from her, her gaze dropping. Suddenly her approach seemed not appropriate anymore. “I’ve never played games in my whole life. And when I have, when it appears I have, then there was no other way. I am sorry,” she turned about to give them some room again. 

He admired her for the strength she put on every day, but he already loved her for the weakness she showed when with him. The allowance for him to see how easily she could crumble. His hand reached for her arm, spanning his fingers gently around it. She gasped surprised, her eyes now wide, her lashes giving the impression they were even more full. Decisively Randall pulled her back toward him, his other hand sliding along her middle, never taking his eyes off of her. 

To hell with rumours and consequences he thought, carefully cupping her face between his hands. His fingertips, caressing along her neckline, his thumb once again by her mouth. God, that kind of lipstick, he always had a weakness for red. A tendency for Bel, ever since. He just had kept it a perfect secret — even to himself. 

Her hands placed on his chest, slowly sliding upwards over the expensive fabric. Randall knew exactly what he was doing and how he was doing it, no matter if he was nervous or not. The way his fingers brushed over her mouth, sent a warm feeling through her body, a heated sensation mixing up with the want to finally get kissed. “I want this,” she whispered, and it was all he needed to know. 

Randall inhaled deeply through his nose and then leaned in, closing the gap. Eyes closed his mouth brushed against hers, nipping at her upper lip. When he felt her arms come around his neck, pressing herself against him with a sigh, he tilted his head to the other side. His nose brushed against hers, the contact loosening for a moment only to be reconnected with him, letting his hand come around her gripping her by the shoulders, putting a lot of need into the kiss. 

Bel’s hands entangled with his hair with one side, the other by his cheek, her thumb feeling the frame of his glasses by his ear. As if she wanted to hold him in place, take every kiss he offered, every little gasp he made against her skin, into her mouth — afraid it was a dream she would wake up from any second. 

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

The harsh sound of the doorbell let them startle, break the kiss, and Randall reached for her shoulders as if to make sure to calm her and also to make sure he would not lose balance. Bel gave an embarrassed laugh when realising it was just the doorbell. She could have sworn her heart had missed a beat. 

“Are your expecting visitors?” he asked low, hoarse, his lips still lingering by her mouth. His breath collided against her chin, sending a shiver down her spine. Her hands held him by his waistcoat, “it’s probably Mrs Smith, 83 years old, she tends to forget her keys. Don’t react; she’ll ring somewhere else.” 

“Mh,” his thumbs made little circles by her shoulders wondering what to do about the situation. He knew, if he kissed her one more time, he wouldn’t stop doing so for the rest of the night. “It’s late.”

She had feared he would say something like this, but she also had no imagination what else should have happened instead, “you want to go home.” 

It was natural to conclude. Randall exhaled, his hands gliding over her arms to her hands, making her take them away from him.

Expecting him to let go of her hands, turn away and leave, she was surprised to find his hand holding onto hers, making his fingers intertwined with hers. Unsure of what to expect, she looked at him. 

They both expected a reaction from the other, but neither did or said anything. They were lost. 

“Stay,” Bel covered his hands, kissing them, knowing the answer already. 

“No,” it wouldn’t do good. They were about to end up somewhere, and it needed navigation, or they’d crash and burn in an instant. Randall had that once, and not wanted it to happen again. “I’ll better go. Will you be alright?” he tugged a strand of hair behind her ear, and if only to make clear he had a bigger plan, and this was just a needed goodbye. 

“I will,” she then stepped away, walking over to the chair with his jacket. “Will you?” 

He took it from her, shoving it over, never taking his eyes off her. On Monday she would have redressed again, and for some reason, he had become fond of this version of her, with slacks and a jumper a size too big. He nodded. 

_“_ Do I see you tomorrow?” it wasn’t as she expected him to desert suddenly. Also, a definite answer would help her to get through the rest of the weekend. 

“First in office, as usual,” he assured and went to get his coat. When he had it on, his hand was already opening the door, he turned to her, “will I see you?” 

Relieved laughter escaped her, “as usual five minutes too late.”

His face lit up, “Good.”

  
  
  


When Monday came, Bel was her standard five minutes late. As Randall had postponed the Monday editorial conference to 9:30 am since a while, nobody noticed. Finding the crew being busy with the usual things, she greeted Sissy who was sorting some news tickers that had come in during Sunday.

“Morning, any pressing matters, Sissy?”

“Morning Miss Rowley,” Sissy glanced up, sharing a smile with her. “No, sorry. Nothing.”

“Damn it,” Bel grumbled and got out of her coat. “Oh, is Mister Brown in already?”

Sissy stopped in her sorting, locking down the corridor she had complete oversight of from her place. “Haven’t seen him yet, but I am sure he is in his office.” The next person that showed up was Hector looking a bit agitated, and Sissy immediately caught he was looking for Bel. “Mister Madden is in!”

Both Bel and Hector could hear the subtle undertone in her announcement, owing Hector’s old misconducts. 

While Hector gave her an annoyed look, Bel only smirked, “Hector! You look… tired.”

As answer, Hector tugged at his lapels, straightening his posture, “I am.”

“Have you been drinking?” Bel gave him a look over and went behind her desk. He didn’t smell like alcohol. 

“I wish I had actually!” Slightly erratic Hector turned first left then right and then chose to sit down at Bel’s table. “Marnie is driving me insane.”

Bel snorted at her typewriter, pulling in a blank page, “The woman is pregnant! Would drive me insane too.”

“Have you ever tried shopping for ice cream? In the middle of the night?” Hector rubbed his cheeks, noticing in horror he hadn’t found time for a shave yet. “I can’t do this any longer, Bel!”

Not that she had any experience with being pregnant or knowing a lot of pregnant people, Bel leaned back into her chair, peering over the typewriter regarding her anchorman. She had the slightest amount of pity for him. “Rumour says this can’t take forever? How much longer can it be? What does the doctor say?”

“Two weeks,” Hector shuffled the newspapers around without looking, destroying the order Sissy had put them into. “Three at most.”

“Hector, you served in a war,” Bel began slowly, hoping to sound convincing. “You’ve seen worse, you’ve been through much more challenges. Just, try to grab some sleep later, and you’ll do fine. I am not an expert, but I am sure at the end, everything will be worth it.”

Hector sighed. He was aware of how childish he acted, but he knew Bel would always listen and give him support. “Thank you. And I am sorry.”

Bel leaned forward again, raising her eyebrows. This moment was there to savour, “What for?”

He pulled the same face, as he had when Sissy had announced him, just a fraction of a second, “You know. My behaviour. It’s none of my business if you have someone or not. As long as you are happy.”

That made Bel stare at him in disbelief, followed by a burst of short laughter, “are you getting sentimental?”

“No, I just… I miss Freddie. Every single day,” he sighed. “And when I do, I can’t imagine what it is for you.”

After a second of silence in which Bel couldn’t help but admire the way Hector looked when delivering the words, she smiled sadly at him.

“That is the nicest thing you have said since a very long time, Hector.”

“I know!” he stared at her getting amused about it. “Don’t tell anyone, please!”

“Get out!”

Enjoying the moment for a bit, Bel went back to the blank page in her typewriter. And just when she wanted to start, a knock on her door called for her attention. 

It was Randall, leaning half inside, his eyes scanning the room, looking for something uneven, “Miss Rowley.”

Bel’s heart skipped a beat, hearing her name from his lips, “Mister Brown.”

Sissy was right behind him stamping some envelopes with verve. In the distance, a telephone rang—the usual hubbub. 

Randall’s eyes had found the scattered newspapers, frowning at it for a moment. “A word? In my office, please.” Waiting briefly, he awaited her nod and then went straight back to his office. 

With quick steps, her heels echoing down the floor, she followed him. This wasn’t the sort of first meeting after a kiss on Saturday she had expected to happen. She had hoped to talk to him, preferably after the editorial. While stumbling into his office, she realised all her plans for approaching the topic were now dashed. Unsure what to expect Bel felt a panic attack rise. 

Throwing him a glance when passing him at the door, her mind was racing. She tried to come up with what to do next. Being sure as hell that Randall had spent Sunday thinking about the evening before, dismembering every gesture, every word that had been said. She had done it, and when she had done it, he had done it too. 

The door clicked shut, and she could hear him brush his hands over his jacket, waiting for her to turn around. 

Swirling around Bel knew what to do next. If they would talk, they would only do damage which the situation didn’t deserve.

Staring down the floor, his hands hanging almost lifeless beside him, he looked at her in surprise when she had turned. Something in her verve told him something was about to come, “Listen—” 

With two steps, she was at him, kissing him. Not eager, but with force. Her hands by his neck. It was the best she could do at the moment.

The impact of her kiss and body against him made him slip a grunt. His hands reaching for her middle, his lips resonating to her embrace. 

Bel had been bothered with so many questions the day before, coming to the office looking for answers, and kissing him was the fastest way to find that answer. A reckless approach, salted with uncertainties from Randall’s side, but when she slowly disconnected from his lips, she had her answers. Kissing him felt as exciting as the evening before. Sent the same warm feeling through her body, spreading happiness through her.

“I am sorry,” she spoke in relief, mixed up with a bit of insecurity about his upcoming reaction. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Overwhelmed, he stared at her, “I forgot.” His heart was pacing almost relentless against the inside of his chest, making him unsure if this was a sign of panic or a sign of satisfaction. A curt smile appeared on his lips, and he almost leaned in to kiss her once more, only to call himself to order in his head. 

There were so many questions; even a kiss couldn’t solve, “We.. w-we need to talk about this.” His hands caressed up and down her sides, his fingers missing the fabric of her jumper.

Glad he wasn’t pushing her away but sought the word, and the contact relaxed her.

“We do,” she nodded, feeling she was blushing. Feeling also she wanted to be close to him. But there was always the danger of someone coming into his office without warning. Therefore they slowly shuffled away from each other—a silent understanding written over their faces. 

Randall cleared his throat, touching his lips with his fingertips only to get his breast-pocket handkerchief out. There was the chance Bel’s lipstick had rubbed off on him. They couldn’t risk it, and that’s why Bel didn’t take the gesture of him rubbing over his mouth personally. Herself would check her lipstick at the ladies when getting out of his office. It couldn’t be too visible; the kiss hadn’t been that passionate. 

Randall wandered back to his desk, holding against it with two fingers. The support was welcomed. “Do you want to have dinner?” he began getting Bel’s full attention. “Tonight? At my place? We can go to a restaurant if you want to, but I thought a private place would be better.” 

“Yes,” was first all she said when she read his confused expression. “I mean, yes, and your place.”

“Good, I —”

A sudden loud hammering tone began to echo into the room. Unsure what was happening, Bel and Randall exchanged quizzical looks. The tone came from outside. Together they went for the floor. A few others joined them, and quickly Bel understood that the sound was coming from the conference room. 

“What the hell is this noise?” Bel held her ears.

“It’s the news printers!” Isaac mirrored her gesture. His voice was trying to raise over the banging sound of metal against paper rolls. 

Since minutes all the new tickers had begun to work relentlessly, producing an unusual noise. It was like someone was firing several machine guns. 

Bel rolled her eyes, “I know, Isaac. It was a metaphorical question. But why is that so?”

The noise had also attracted Lix out of her office, “The last time the news tickers went haywire, Churchill had declared war on the Nazis.”

In horror, Bel looked at her co-worker. It was nothing she wanted to relive. She went to one of the tickers and ripped a piece of paper off them. Her eyes browsed over the wall of text, “It’s all just rubbish.”

Lix frowned at her, unsure if she was making a joke, “Darling, I’d be careful what you call the news.”

“No,” Bel held out the paper, “it’s literally rubbish.” The text was all letters in no order mixed up with unique characters and such. 

Lix grabbed the paper and gave it to Randall, “Mister Wengrow, get a technician in here ASAP!”

“Yes, Mister Brown,” Isaac vanished out of the room, while Hector entered.

“Don’t tell me Khrushchev dropped the bomb or something,” he rubbed his ears with a pain distorted face, “because, the last time — “

“— We know!” Lix took another piece from the printer and gave it to him. 

“Is that code?” Hector wondered. And for one second they all stared at each other, considering it. 

Then Randall shook his head, and walked over to the printers, looking for the power connection and then pulled it. Immediately the noise died. “There must be a bug in the system. Mister Wengrow is already at it.”

Hector looked over the cryptic text as he was still searching for a deeper meaning in all the nonsense. “But,” he lowered the paper and looked to his colleagues, “maybe I am wrong, but aren’t we dependent on these… things?”

“They are called newstickers, darling,” Lix slipped in with a smug smirk.

“Gosh, Hector!” Bel had quite enough stress already without the technic being faulty. “Sometimes, I am in doubt if you became a newsreader because of your talents or your pretty face! Of course, we are dependent on them!”

“Half the news we broadcast we get over the printers,” Randall raised his hands, trying to calm his staff down a little. “So, let’s hope Mister Wengrow and the technician will have a fast solution at hand. So long, we just move on with our daily business.”

The group was about to scatter back to their offices. When Bel passed Hector, he turned with her, “You think I have a pretty face?”

“Damn it, Hector!” she huffed angrily. It fueled her rage that just twenty minutes ago he had expressed his excuses about his behaviour, and now acted up again. Without much more to say, she hurried away. There was a list of three phone calls she had to make and two stories she had to do further research on it. 

Randall, who was still standing by the table, shoved his hands into his pockets, “Mister Madden! You surely haven’t forgotten our little talk, just a few days ago?”

Visibly Hector bit his tongue, lowering his head for a second, “I haven’t. I am sorry. I am in my office then.” With that, he vanished out of another door. 

Only twenty minutes later, it was Lix standing in the doorframe, holding a whiskey glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, “So?”

Bel was unsure she was hinting at, “So what?”

“Tonight,” she sipped from the whiskey and stepped inside, “you surely come, do you?” Something in Bel’s expression had hinted to Lix that Bel wasn’t up to date. 

Trying to understand what she meant, Bel shuffled in her seat, “Sorry?”

Lix huffed and went over to the corkboard, where at least one hundred and seven pieces of paper hung. Taking her cigarette into her mouth, she reached for a card, tugged it off and gave it to Bel, “I gave it to you a week ago.”

With a scrutinising look, Bel turned the card back and forth. She had no idea what this was about. It was an invite to an evening event in a bar not far from the office, especially for media people. Something that happened annually right before the holiday season. A neutral place for a drink, small talk, and exchanging a few pieces of information, nothing that serious. Just a little something to keep in contact. 

“Did you?” Bel asked in a mild panic. She couldn’t remember, but it probably had been Lix saying one thing and then another and at the end, she had told her about it and had pinned it at her wall without further notion. 

“You forgot?” Lix leaned against her desk. “Good, I reminded you.”

“Yes, but,” Bel remembered Randall would show up within the next hour, “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Lix pressed her cigarette into Bel’s ashtray. “I thought we’ll have that drink, you asked me about yesterday. And now you can’t.”

Shrugging, Bel took the invite and placed it on a stack aside her typewriter, “I forgot about it, and now I have plans. Sorry.”

Lix took her in, and Bel felt how she began to blush. “What plans?”

If Bel didn’t get out of here, Lix would smell the rat, so she slowly stood up, grabbing a few files, and stepped around the desk, “Plans.”

Reaching out, she grabbed Bel by the arm, “you have the most terrible poker face I’ve ever seen. You are seeing someone!”

“Listen,” she stepped forward, “I gotta go!”

For her age, Lix was damn quick, getting off the desk, around Bel to the door pushing it close. Glaring at Bel, who looked at her in surprise and horror, “Who is it? Your Doctor? I thought you didn’t like him that much.”

“It’s not him,” was all Bel said, realising she should have answered differently. “It’s nobody. I just want to hang out … at home. It’s nothing.”

“Liar!” Lix read in her eyes, inhaling sharply, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You said that already, and I didn’t believe it the first time,” she pushed Bel back into the direction of the desk. “You are dating again! How has that happened? Yesterday you asked me for a drink. Telling me further you were not interested in male company and now, 24 hours later, you are dating someone.”

“I am not ...,” Bel hadn’t the will to lie to Lix. “Maybe I do.”

“Darling?” Lix read the confusion in her friend. “Who is it?”

“Listen, you promise me not to be angry!”

The question alone set all alarms off, “Oh my God, who is it?”

Biting her lower lip, Bel uttered, “Randall.” 

Lix stared blankly at her for a few seconds, and then rose one hand to her ear, “Sorry, I am getting old, did you just say, Randall?”

“Yes,” her admittance was somewhat rueful knowing about the past Lix had with him. 

Lix leaned back, unable to say something. For a bit, she considered if there was another Randall in the department, but there wasn’t of course. Placing the glass away, she ruffled her hair, playing through the possibilities, “you guys haven’t, have you?”

“Excuse me!” Bel protested. “We’ve only kissed.”

Lix tried to understand when all this had happened, “When?”

“Listen, he repaired my telly, a couple of days ago and we had dinner and yesterday…. I don’t know what has gotten into us! “ 

“That is the question to ask!” Lix sat down in the chair.

“Where is your problem?” Bel leaned against her desk, feeling guilty on one side and misunderstood on the other. 

“It’s Randall!”

Bel thought to know where her uproar came, “You kissed Freddie!”

“I did a bit more than that,” she answered thoughtlessly.

Bel had known. Nevertheless, it stung, “Do I need to know this?” 

Lix lowered her head, leaning back against the rest, exhausted, “I didn’t mean to.”

Bel went slowly sinking back into the chair, watching Lix how she mulled over the facts she just heard. 

“You are aware; he is old enough to be your father!”

Just having touched the seat, Bel jumped up again, facing Lix, “Like really? Just you know, my father left my mother pregnant in 1923, while she lived down at Clapham Junction. As far as I remember, the man down the floor was reporting from the Irish Civil War at that time. There is a limited chance he was on leave at that time, but—”

“— that is not funny, Bel!”

“No, it’s not,” she answered coldly. The last she wanted to have was a fight with her friend. She put on a warmer expression, “It just happened. We’ve met a few times, with absolutely no intentions and then I don’t know what came over me to ask him to kiss me.”

A snort escaped Lix, as curious as she was how both grown-ups ended up kissing, she knew it was better for her sanity not to know all the details. In essence, at least this time, “It’s more about what came over him he actually did kiss you!”

“Gee, thanks!” Bel took it the wrong way.

“Didn’t you tell me, you wouldn’t want to date anymore?”

“It wasn’t a date, Lix! We had dinner, drinks, he had Orange Juice, we talked about this and that, we enjoyed each other’s company… Oh my god, those were all dates!”

Lix tried not to get deeper into all this, “Oh, whatever. You are both grown-ups. Come by tonight. Just for a drink. Pete will be there too; he is keen on meeting you.”

“Randall asked me out for dinner!” Bel wailed almost. “I love to have that drink and meet Pete. But I do not want to cancel that dinner.”

“Oh, darling!” Lix began to chuckle. “You are aware Randall has the same invitation. You both should be there because you are representing The Hour. Drag him along, for an hour and then leave together. Or one after the other.”

Bel’s head ended up between her hands. Her elbows on the table, “Shit. You are right,” she stood up, grabbing the card, “I need to talk with him about it.”

“You better,” Lix kept seated smirking.

About to leave the room, Bel stopped aside her, “You are angry?”

“I am amused,” Lix reached out to her hand. “Just be happy.”

“Thanks,” Bel pressed her hand and then walked down the floor, two doors further, knocking on Randall’s office. After a moment of wait, she entered, finding him in front of his mirror binding his tie. 

Seeing her, Randall glanced at the card she was holding prominently in her hand, “Ah,” his eyes darted to his desk, where the same card laid.

“Glad you forgot also,” she teased with a smirk. 

“Who reminded you?” Randall finished with the tie, closed the locker and joined her by the desk. “For me, it was Mister Madden.”

“Lix did,” Bel explained. “We need to go, don’t we?”

“Best it is,” Randall took the card from her. Only for the reason to brush with his fingers against hers. “These days it would appear like a defeat if we don’t show at all. It’s nothing official, but you know how it is.”

“Dinner won’t run away,” Bel leaned beside him at his desk. “It’s only a pleasure deferred, hopefully.”


	9. Chapter 9

Hector had gone to the bar, getting drinks for everyone, “Drinks for the ladies,” he handed Lix and Bel a glass of gin tonic, “that one is for me, and tonic water for Mister Brown.”

“Shouldn’t you be home?” Bel asked, holding out her glass, and they all clung it together. 

“I should,” Hector sipped from his whiskey and then turned to Lix. “The only reason I am here is to meet Mister America finally.”

“Nosy boy!” Lix only quipped, looking behind her then. “I’ll probably regret making you all meet him.”

“To be honest,” Bel gave Randall a short glance, “I didn’t think you would let us meet him.”

“He was insistent,” she shrugged, adding a smile then. “Ah, here he is!” Hector was the first raising his head to have a look. “Better behave Hector, or I make you explain Egyptian hieroglyphs in my next article to the British public!”

“Mister Brown never would allow that.”

Randall turned with a sparkle in his eyes and raised eyebrows, “I would.” Earning a gapping expression from Hector.

A man, at the beginning of his 50s, dark, blond hair with a few grey streaks in them came through the door, looking around for a familiar face. When spotting Lix, he raised a hand and pushed through approaching the group. 

“Hello! I am sorry, I am late,” Pete Mitchell let his eyes travel around the group for a second, to land on Lix’s face. As tall as Lix, he leaned in, kissing her on the cheek. On hand coming around her shoulders without much ado. A neat seven-day-stubble, an unobtrusive tan paired with a few gentle wrinkles, gave his blue eyes a prominent look. “So, this is the group of colleagues you told me it would be a mistake to meet.”

It erupted a chuckle from them all.

“Thanks, for blowing my cover, darling,” Lix had visibly reddened. 

“Isn’t she lovely when I embarrassed her?” he gave her a short smoulder, and let his hands brush over her arm when reaching out to Bel. “Miss Rowley, I presume? Producer of the Hour, a kind of show Americans still can’t produce because they have absolutely no style at all.”

“Are you sure he is American? He sounds like one, but the words don’t fit!” Bel joked reaching out for his hand.

“I roamed around too long in Europe, Miss Rowley. Helps, to broaden the mind. And you must be the face of the Hour!”

“Hector Madden,” the man shook hands extensively, “So glad to finally meet you. Miss Storm here hasn’t stopped teasing us about you!”

“Hector! Hieroglyphs!” Lix warned, sharing a loving smirk with her partner. 

Pete turned to Randall, glancing him over. For a second, there was the lingering expression everyone held their breath due to the meeting of the two men.

Mitchell frowned for a moment, then his face lit up, “Mister Brown! How long has it been? Fifteen years?”

Randall raised a hand, trying to remember, “Must be! Good to see you again.” He reached out, grabbing his hand. 

An apparent confusion in Hector and Bel’s face, let Peter elaborate, “He saved my neck once, in … where was it? Prague. I’ve run out of film with my camera. Carelessly replacing it during a huge demonstration. Almost got run over by a tank, but Mister Brown here had the brilliance to save me.”

“One does, what one can,” Randall gave a thin smile. Then spotting someone in the room, “It was good to meet you again. I spot Mister Spencer from Panorama, someone I fear I need to speak to. I’ll see you later.”

Bel kept indulging with the others in small talk, complimenting Lix when Hector and Pete had gone for another round of drinks, “Quite a catch.”

“Oh, shut it!” Lix was flustered, something she rarely was. 

“You never are like this,” Bel concluded, “so this is serious.”

Lix watched the men talk in the distance, “Maybe it is. It’s… ah, I don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up to high. I am too old for another heartbreak.”

“The way he looks at you, I can’t imagine it’s just something trifling for him.”

“And what’s with you?” Lix glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t you with Randall? On the way home?”

“Stop the teasing!” Bel smirked. “I’ll go find him; it looks like Mister Spencer bores him much.”

Just when Bel approached, Mister Spencer made his goodbyes and Randall turned slightly exhausted to her, “you came to save me?”

“Sorry, I am late,” she brushed gently against his shoulder with his, “Mister Mitchell was very endearing.”

“I bet he was.”

“You didn’t tell you know him,” Bel turned. Her lips pursed and curious about his reaction. 

He glanced at her over the rims of his specs. “No one ever asked,” only to glance over to the group. 

Lix was in his embrace, enjoying the company of him.

Bel turned again, taking in the picture, “Does it hurt you? Them like this?”

“No,” Randall quickly answered, turning to her then. His eyes darting to her lips. “What hurts me, is you and me being here and not having dinner.” 

“Come by,” she brought her glass against his, her fingers brushing against his, “tonight.”

He let out a sigh, “Bel.”

“Oh, never mind!” she quickly retreated from her offer. “I understand.” Then she made a snapping sound. It was getting late. “I’ll call it a night. Does my Head of News agree I’ve done my duty here?”

He nodded, seeing she was covering her disappointment about his reaction, “he does.”

“Good night, Randall,” she gave him a last smile mixed up with disappointment and then went to the others saying goodbye.

His answer was given out of his usual sense of obligation, regarding the next day, a busy schedule and in need to avoid rumours. His behaviour angered him, but he had no time to ponder about it for long, as Lix approached him after Bel had left.

“Miss Storm.” The way she looked at him, he could conclude she had a particular reason coming over.

“Mister Brown,” she turned her head, blowing the smoke of her cigarette into the other direction. “Shouldn’t you … follow?”

A short gasp escaped him, “She told you then?”

“I made her tell me,” Lix explained with a wink. “So, no need to be angry with her. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

That however made him give her a distinctive smile, of ‘I’ll bet it is’.

“What’s stopping you? Don’t tell me you are worried, because the others might catch on — they won’t. Or are you holding back, because of the broadcast tomorrow?” Lix had it all said more in an exaggerated way, teasing him, but when she caught his expression, Lix deciphered it as hidden guilt and gave a sharp gasp. “Seriously?”

“I can’t remember asking you for advice, Miss Storm,” he turned his back on the group so that he could give her all his attention. 

“Surely not,” she tried to be angry for a second, and then decided it was not what she wanted. Former lover aside, “back in the days, you weren’t that cautious because of duty. You were quite the opposite. Always — “

“— I am getting your drift,” Randall licked his lips, feeling pressured, feeling she was right in some way. “It’s just…”

Lix considered him for a moment. “You have a heart, somewhere in there,” she pointed at his chest with her little finger of the hand that was holding the cigarette, “it’s worth following it from time to time. And don’t be mistaken, it’s an advice easier given as acted upon myself.”

Placing his glass of tonic water aside, he inhaled, making a decision then, “Tell Mister Mitchell it was nice meeting him again. I wouldn’t mind seeing him … more often from now on. Goodnight, Miss Storm.”

A pleased smile on her lips, she nodded at him, “Goodnight Mister Brown.”

Without further ado, Randall left the location, finding his car outside. There was only one place to go to. 

When it knocked on her door, Bel had only been home for ten minutes. Having gotten out of her shoes, she was about to make up her mind if she should take a bath or just change clothes. When the sound from the door reached her, she also considered simply redressing and going for a bit of telly.

Wondering, she turned to see a shadow through the glass of her door, “Who is it?” 

“It’s me,” it came from the other side. And after a short pause. “Randall.”

Bel stilled her breathing for a second, “Just… just a minute.” Quickly she took her coat she had carelessly thrown over her sofa, and put it on the hanger and checked her appearance in the mirror. “Coming!”

When the door was finally open, she found Randall standing there, fiddling with the brim of his hat, “I am sorry, do I— “

“— No, not at all!” they fell both in uncertain silence when Bel began to assume he might not be here because of her mainly. “Has something happened?”

“No,” he looked down at the floor. “I know, we agreed to postpone our dinner, but… I just came, because there is something I wanted to ask you. May I come in?”

Bel nodded quickly and stepped aside, “of course!” She had been disappointed that he had declined her offer to come over, and was now even more delighted he had changed his mind.

Randall waited till she had closed the door, watching her walk to the middle of her small apartment. Unsure what to do with his hat he placed it back onto his head, before realising it was rude and took it off again. Looking for a place to set it down, he spotted Bel’s little desk with the typewriter on it. He decided to place it there, some hem and haws given. Uncertain how to begin.

Biting her lips, to hide a smile, Bel watched him place the hat on her typewriter, “Truth, then.”

“Hm?”

“Truth or Dare, remember? You said you wanted to ask a question,” she made a little step forward. “So, Truth is it then.”

Pursing his lips with a gentle smile, glad she had thrown him a lifeline, he nodded, “Yes.” By now he was sure Bel knew why he was here. “The past few days have been strange. Pleasant, but strange in the outcome when I am honest. I’ve never thought that you… and I….” They both had shuffled closer to each other unconsciously. 

“I know,” Bel kneaded her fingers in anticipation, aware it was an unusual story between them. When Randall kept silent, she reached out with her fingers, and Randall let his fingers join hers. 

There were all these concerns which were going round in his head now visible in his face. It wasn’t as easy as it was when he had been a young lad. But a different age brought different problems. 

“I am old enough—” he didn’t want to speak it out loud, and with it, Bel grabbed his hands tight. 

“This is a matter I don’t care for. Things happen,” she never had been drawn to men resembling Randall’s age. Still, she also never had spent a single thought about any age difference. “So, your question then?” There was no room left for a discussion about it. 

Randall felt her hands come around his wrists, encouraging him, “I was wondering all day and evening; do you mind, Miss Rowley, if I ask if I may … kiss you again?”

An invisible weight fell off Bel’s chest. “No,” was, therefore, her answer without hesitation, “I wouldn’t at all, Mister Brown.”

A nervous laugh escaped Randall, his eyes admiring her long lashes, her round eyes and her pink-coloured cheeks. Compared to her, he must look like an old has-been bachelor, and he couldn’t imagine she found him that attractive, but that was something to wonder about later. Now it was his to take action into his hands. Bowing, he went to kiss her lips gently, finding Bel lean into the kiss. 

A little sensation ran through them both, lighting a fire, and with it, they forgot all restraint. Reaching out, Randall let his hands travel over her waist and hip, pulling her in. Bel flung her arms around his neck, suddenly so wanting — deepening the kiss. 

Randall was sure that the kiss would rip him off his sound mind and any decent behaviour. Without contemplating much, he let her tongue into his mouth. His hands now by her neck, his fingertips about to get entangled with her usual put-up hairdo. 

The taste of peppermint followed by a whiff of coffee spread in Bel’s mouth. Randall’s cologne mixed up with the sensation of his kiss. It made her groan gently into his mouth, a warm fuzzy feeling beginning to spread from her belly. 

It was Randall who broke away first, looking at her with blown pupils, jumping from one focus point to the next, “I shouldn’t do this.” Instead of answering tugged Bel at his coat to make him take it off. “We shouldn’t do this,” he shrugged it off and placed it with one hand over the sofa, and with the other, he pulled her in for another kiss. 

“True,” Bel let her hands slide over his arms to his shoulder, “we shouldn’t.” 

Then they nodded both, only to kiss again. This time Bel shoved her hands under his jacket, shedding it away with a known movement and Randall let the fabric come down his arms into his hands without breaking away from her lips. 

When the jacket had joined his coat, his hands reached for her costume jacket and began to fumble the buttons open, only to be stopped by Bel who had a moment of clarity, “Wait!”

With soft panic in his eyes, he stilled, “yes?”

“Listen, when we do this,” she began unbuttoning her costume herself, all nervous. “When you do this, then I don’t want to hear about regret or guilt afterwards. If you think you will tell me afterwards, it was all a big mistake, then we better stop here and never speak of it again, understood?”

Highly aware of why she pointed it out, he let her words sink in, “You ever that certain in what you want?”

“No, I am just very certain to voice what I don’t want,” she swallowed, unsure how Randall would take it. “So? No guilt, no regret?”

When he had to wait for another second to kiss her again, then he would regret something else, so he stepped up, “agreed,” and captured her lips with a hum. 

“Oh, there is something else!” Once again, she stopped him with an excusing face, feeling a bit awkward. However, Bel had gotten too old and had been in too many doomed affairs and relationships, to add another embarrassing one. 

By now Randall was amused, lingering by her mouth patiently, waiting for her to speak.

“No deserting!” a finger got placed on his chest, making him raise an eyebrow and lean back, so he was able to take her in with a quizzical expression. “No, awkward, spy-like leaving in the middle of the night,” Bel specified,” like this is one of those— “

Randall quickly placed a finger on her lips, getting her drift. “Is this an invitation for breakfast, Miss Rowley?”

She hadn’t been aware that her rule would lead to exactly this, “Sorts, yes, Mister Brown.”

He pondered another second before he decided he would sign a treaty if necessary, to get on with her finally, “agreed!” They were about to get tangled up again when an idea hit him, and he stopped her, “There is one rule I have!”

“That’s… that’s only fair, I suppose,” Bel shuffled nervously on the spot, feeling the gentle pressure of his hand around her upper arms. Her eyes trailing between his eyes and lips, feeling the urge to leave the talking finally behind. 

“Slow,” Randall murmured, his hands drifting down to her waist, holding her in place against him, “we take this… slow.”

Bel cocked an eyebrow, gauging the double meaning in her head till her ears reddened, “You are aware you are a mean tease, Mister Brown?”

His head tilted a little, a smirk appearing, “It has been said,” he breathed against her lips.

Her answer was a content hum before sucking his lower lip. Grabbing him then by his waistcoat, finally letting go of all the worries with it. 

Slowly, indulging into their kisses, and Randall’s little explorations of her chin and throat, they began to peel each other out of their clothes. At first Randall’s waistcoat, followed by his tie, which Bel slowly let slip out under his collar. While Randall then unbuttoned his shirt, Bel unbuttoned her blouse and let it glide down her shoulders, revealing a camisole and her bra. The sight made Randall stagger in his breathing, tugging absently down his braces. 

Blushing, Bel turned and gave him a glance over his shoulders. He caught the meaning and opened the zipper of her skirt, feeling his blood rush through his veins, racing to the middle of his body. 

The skirt dropped to the floor, all under Randall praying eyes. Unable to do something against it, he dropped to his knees to take the dress to place it over the stool where he had put her blouse and his clothes a minute before. He simply couldn’t have such chaos and was grateful Bel let him break away, again and again, to sort the clothes away. 

He found her staring down at him, and the sight made him forget how to move. Her silk camisole fell light around her beautiful body, covering her bra and knickers, the garter belt holding her stockings. The red lipstick on her mouth slightly smeared, her lips hung open just a bit. 

Bel noted how his dark curls were about to break free while he was placing her skirt away. And when he looked up to her, she reached out with her hand, letting her fingertips roam through his hair, scratching over his scalp—finally stilling her desire to see him all dishevelled. 

His eyes fell shut, and the touch sent shivers down his spine. With a sigh, he leaned forward pressing a kiss on Bel’s upper left thigh, his hands wandering from her knee up to the clips of her stockings. With every kiss placed on her skin he opened one of the clips till they all were dangling, the stockings still in place.

Bel reached for the garter belt opening it and let it drop into Randall’s hands. 

Then both his hands glided over her waist along her sides, while he stood again. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but for once in his life, the Head of News was lost for words and hoped the way he kissed her, the way his hands caressed over her body would tell the story. 

“I can’t believe I am doing this,” Bel was about to take the shirt off of Randall. 

“What exactly?” he whispered, kissing along her chin. 

She was sure she would melt under his kisses soon, “Seducing my Head of News.”

Randall nipped at her lower lip, “Glad you said it because I was worried that it is me who seduces his Producer.” As if he was always that brave, his hands came to the clip of her bra and opened it effortless. 

“I am sure we’ll find a consent somewhere in the middle, about the matter” she opened his trousers and tugged them down.

“Certainly.” It was the last word spoken before they fell into her bed—a whole night with explorations in front of them. 

  
  


  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

In the morning, Randall woke slowly, looking at the ceiling, taking in his surroundings. He was well aware of being in Bel Rowley’s flat and more aware the woman herself was laying in his arm, still deep asleep. Looking to the window, he noted it was still dark. Glancing at the clock beside her bed told him it was 6:52 am. They had to be in the office at nine. 

Remembering the promise he had given to her and himself, he let the situation linger a bit longer around. No regret. No guilt. Instead, he thought, he could have that way more often. 

“Bel…,” he whispered, one hand tugging a strand of hair out of her face. “Bel?”

A single hum was all the reaction he got, and it made him smile, while he glanced back at the clock. They had to get up when they did not want to run late. One of them would be acceptable, but both would only raise suspicions. So, he tried another trick. Bending toward her ear, “Miss Rowley!” 

It wasn’t loud, just very stern and didn’t fail in its wanted reaction. Bel opened her eyes, inhaled and shot up, holding the blanket against her chest, “What? Have we overslept?”

A chuckle escaped Randall, letting his eyes wander over her bare back, “No, not yet.”

She turned and threw him an unhappy expression regarding the way he had woken her. Her mood softened when taking his appearance in. His curls had come loose, and a soft shadow had appeared on his chin. Randall Brown looked nothing like the strict Head of News from the office more a little bit wasted from last night, beautifully wasted.

“What?”

Bel blushed, “Nothing. Just.. you are still here.”

Unsure if he should, he let his fingertips brush accidentally against her skin, “You basically made me sign a treaty.”

The man had humour; she liked that, “I know. It’s solely the first time it worked.” Then her eyes travelled over his uncovered chest, trying to memorise the rest of his form in her head. Pleasant memories of the night swirling through her head while her eyes went further down. Reaching the edge of the blanket, right under his navel where a thin line of dark hair let a path under the covers, she blushed hard. Remembering to get composer again, “Well, anyway,” she looked without a plan around the room. “I fear I have promised you too much.”

Randall who had seen her looks and had been one second away from pulling her into a kiss, suddenly propped himself up on his elbows, afraid of the news, “I thought we said…”

Bel’s eyes widened, “Breakfast. I meant breakfast. My fridge is empty.”

Relieved, Randall sank back into the pillow, “I’ll manage.”

“How about, I go to the bathroom, real quick, then make us some tea, while you go to the bathroom, and then we... ,” she had no plan whatsoever of what would come after that. 

“We...yes... ,” Randall, sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. Quickly he reached for his specs and then for his underwear, slipping it on. “You want me to fetch you…?”

“Please,” she smiled reddening, and Randall went to find her red woollen cardigan hanging at the bathroom door. “Thank you.”

Randall then turned to the stool with his clothes and tried to give Bel, who slipped on the cardigan on and looked for some knickers in her wardrobe, the feeling of privacy. As the bedroom was as tiny as the rest of the flat, the proximity they had to work around each other was anything but private. Plus he couldn’t help but give a glance at her bare legs here and there getting distracted. 

Wearing his trousers, undershirt finally and his half-open button-up and Bel knickers and a shirt, they suddenly stood in each other’s way when she had intended to leave the room for the bathroom. 

“Sorry,” they both said, blushing quickly. 

Randall stepped to his right and Bel to her left and once more it led to them bumping together. It was Randall who then reached out to her, grabbing her gently by the arms, lowered his chin, peering down at her then, “Your apartment...”

Bel looked up at him, transfixed by his stare, “what’s with it?” His eyes searched for something in her face. 

“It’s a shoebox,” he said, the left corner of his mouth darting upwards before he tugged at her. His body bending down a little. 

Their faces just an inch apart, Bel rose her chin, feeling the stream of air out of his nose collide with her skin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Randall wanted to erase the distance between their lips, and Bel couldn’t imagine something better, but there was a reason, she placed a finger on his chest. “We can’t do this.”

“We already have.”

“We never make it to the office on time,” she explained, still not parting in total from him. “It would lead to rumours if we both head in late.”

Closing his eyes, he let his hands travel to her shoulders, feeling her smile at him in amusement, “Ever so sensible, Miss Rowley.”

“You are aware we still haven’t talked about… this?” she poked a finger against his chest and left it placed there getting back his attention. 

“No, we haven’t. We should.”

“We should.”

“But not now,” he wanted to grab her finger, but she was too quick for him.

“No,” she let the rim of his open shirt slip through her fingers, playfully, “because we would be late for office.”

“What a Catch-22,” Randall looked with a snap of air at his wristwatch. In horror, he realised they had dwindled precious minutes, “Damn it.” 

She watched his eyebrows make a little wiggle, before becoming an angry line and Randall gave a sudden remembrance a low grunt. “You have a meeting?” 

Glancing back at her, “Sorts,” he rechecked the time, calculating how much time was left, “Miss Rowley. Bathroom. Now. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Yes, Mister Brown,” she mockingly saluted, unsure if Randall was indeed serious ‘serious’ or just normal serious. With a glare of him and minimally raised corners of his mouth, Bel hurried into the bathroom.

When she returned — in the record time of 7 minutes precisely — Randall had made tea and had almost entirely dressed, “finished!”

“Ah!” he turned, letting his eyes linger on her a tad too long, before remembering the pressing of time. “Tea is ready.” Then he slipped past her.

“There is a spare toothbrush,” Bel called after him, warming her hands with the mug, “I placed it on the basin.” 

Randall also found a fresh towel she had placed there too, the toothbrush on top of it. A considered move, he thought and tried to do his routine in a strange place as specific as possible, as fast as possible. His hair was a bit unwilling, as water wasn’t good enough to tame his curls. Time would be too short to drive by his place, but he had spare clothes, a razor and product in his office and would manage. For now, it was good enough, without battling too many anxious thoughts into his head. 

Returning to the living room, he saw Bel had exchanged from her leisure clothing into a dark green skirt. The fitting jacket in hand about to attach, a golden brooch at her left lapel. He liked her style, but the red cardigan had become his secret favourite. 

When putting her jacket on under his observing look, she noted he looked as sharp as ever. The slight shadow betrayed the last night, and when another would look carefully, one would find his hair a bit wilder as usual. 

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” she went to brush her hair into a ponytail. “I’ll take the bus.”

He rechecked the time, walking up to her, “You’d be late for editorial.” At some point, she had told him about public transport going every 30 minutes. 

Speeding up with her hair, she got a little annoyed by his strict attitude, “I said there be rumours when we are both late. For me, it’s just usual,” she finished up with, putting her hands akimbo, “The Head of News will manage.”

Her sudden outbreak made him lost for words. About to form the knot of his tie, he lost track and had to start anew. With vigour, he pulled the thin fabric from his neck, “The Head of News has a meeting at nine, that’s why you have to do the Editorial. It will be a bit odd when no one would be there.”

Now it was Bel missing the words. Willing to retort on him, she tried to remember when he had told her about the circumstance that he was busy today and she in responsibility for the morning conference.

“It’s broadcasting day!” she exclaimed in lack of comprehension. They had never done the essential Editorial of the week without each other — no matter what. Given the crisis, the show was in; it was most unusual that Randall would not attend.

Randall inhaled, checking around the room. She was dressed, he was dressed, and it was time to go, “Are you ready? If so, we can have this discussion in the car?”

Without waiting for an answer, Randall went to get his coat. He opened the door already, leaving Bel with an angry groan to no other action as to follow him. 

“You own me an explanation!” Bel motioned Randall away, who wanted to open the car door for her, before settling into the passenger seat. “In two years, you would have never allowed having the Editorial happen without you!” There was an answer, but Randall was hesitant to give it to her. The way he squirmed in his seat and brushed over his temples told her he was holding back because the news would only make her angrier. Then Bel remembered the date. “Oh!”

Without looking at her, Randall nodded while raising his eyebrows for a second. Then he pushed the gas down. 

“Mrs Davenport?”

“Mrs Davenport,” Randall confirmed. The older woman, about seventy years old was the widow of one of the most important men within the BBC. Her son, working for the upper floors for twenty years. 

Bel was lost for words, besides being so very angry about the matter and the situation. Having a full-blown controversy after they had spent a beautiful night together — in her opinion — was certainly not what she had expected. There was a coffee needed before she was able to continue. The rest of the drive was spent in tense silence.

When they reached the entrance of Lime Grove, it was twenty minutes to nine. While Randall quickly turned off into his office, Bel aimed at her office, but only to get off her coat and purse and then checked for coffee. With luck, Lix had put the brew on already. 

Getting two mugs, she took a sip from the one of hers and decided she was fit for confronting Randall once again. 

She bumped into Lix, who greeted her with a mischievous smirk, “Oh, look, shouldn’t you be in late or something?” 

“Can we have the banter later at some point?” Bel snapped. “I have to murder someone first!”

Taken aback from her reaction, Lix held up both hands in defence. Such a mood so early in the day wasn’t usual for Bel. “Whom?”

“Randall!”

“Oh, my…,” was all Lix said and decided it was best to keep away from a fighting couple. 

Without a knock, Bel pushed the door of Randall’s office open, finding him with an electric razor in front of his locker. He threw her an annoyed look but kept silent to finish off first.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bel went to place one of the mugs onto his desk. “Couldn’t you postpone it?”

Randall put on some cologne and then shut the locker door with verve, “Answer A; I forgot. Answer B; no, I couldn’t.”

“You forgot?” it was a word she had never used in connection with him. “You, the Head of News, who never forgets anything, forgot to tell me, the Producer, that you had an important appointment on Broadcasting-Day? It’s not like you haven’t seen me for the past four days?”

Being in a tight corner now, Randall shoved his hands into his trouser pockets in defence, “What is this?”

Bel took a stance in the middle of the room, “Tell me!”

There was no need to tell Bel about the importance of Mrs ’very wealthy and very influential’ Davenport. And no obligation, to remind her, that the old lady was coming by every month like a damn regular clockwork. And there was no need of telling Randall how important it was to work as a team in these uncertain times. “A-Are we still talking about Mrs Davenport?”

With chance, they had five minutes left; then he’d be busy for at least four hours, “I… I don’t know, Randall. Why don’t you tell me? Because I think it is your turn anyway.”

Snapping for air, he was about to begin, when Sissy interrupted with a bouquet of floors in her hand.

“Miss Rowley! Look!” Bel and Randall turned, glaring at her, wondering about the flowers at the same time. “These have been delivered just right now. By Mister Thompson.”

Bel needed a moment to keep up, then the name rang a bell, “Ah.” It was huge, with purple, yellow and green - almost ridiculous. 

Randall cleared his throat, making both women look at him. Sissy in her excitement about the flowers, forgot that her both superiors might need a moment. 

“Very handsome,” she reached out giving the flowers to Bel, who took it as if it was something contagious.

“The flowers?” Randall asked deadpan. 

Sissy glanced at the flowers, becoming aware of what he was going for, “yes, those too,” and because it was obviously not awkward enough she added, “He’s a Doctor!”

“Yes, Sissy,” Bel wanted nothing more than to go back to bed again and restart the day. Randall, obviously not, “A Doctor?”

Sissy was on a roll, “Yes, paediatrician, isn’t he?” Bel only sighed. “He works at— “

“— would you mind briefing Mister Brown about Mister Thompson another time, Sissy?”

Her outbreak showed an effect. Abashed Sissy nodded, excused herself and left. 

It had been such a beautiful night, and now everything was going down the drain. Unsure what to do with the flowers, the elephant in the room, Bel placed them in the act of exhaustion onto the newspapers which Randall had sorted minutes before. 

Randall had never been someone for giving flowers to a woman, but even he knew what such a big, expensive bunch meant, “Mister Thompson. I see.” 

“It’s not like you think,” it would have been easy to explain but not right now, not in the mood they had gotten each other. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter what I think, does it? Not anymore.” Randall glanced at his watch, knowing he was only checking it because he felt uncomfortable and wished everything was different. 

Bel looked at him, wondering what to say next, “Listen—“

“— I don’t have time to listen, Miss Rowley!” he cut her off, making her lean back offended. 

She had dated Thompson for a while, and then he had left for a long journey to Denmark, and she had more or less forgotten about him. It hadn’t been yet serious. 

About losing his principals, Randall rose a hand, “I didn’t mean to make it sound like it sounded.” 

“I think you absolutely wanted to make it sound like it sounded, Mister Brown,” arms akimbo Bel glared at him. “I spare you the words, as you are so very busy,” it was an act of stupidity, but she couldn’t stop herself provoking him.

“I hope you do not want to tell me, I have deterred you from something more important last night,” Randall glanced over to the flowers. 

A huff escaped Bel, she was hurt by now, “Have fun with Mrs Davenport, Mister Brown!” she turned all sour, then Randall stopped her, “Miss Rowley.”

“Yes?”

“Your flowers,” he pointed at them with his flat hand, not wanting them around.

With another full huff, Bel grabbed them from the table with such force that a few leaves loosened and fell to the ground, “By the way!” She stopped at the door, seeing the elevator door go open in the distance, revealing Mrs Davenport, “About the conversation we wanted to have. No need to insist on it, so better not dwell on it. Goodbye.”

There was no more time to answer, and by now Randall also regretted having left the bed.

Mrs Davenportwas just about to greet Lix, and then she saw Bel, and went to kiss her on the cheek left and right with ardour, “Miss Rowley, so good to see you! Flowers, my God, they are beautiful! My husband used to send me flowers when we weren’t yet married. God rest his soul! Who’s the lucky guy courting you?”

Now, Bel was sure everyone in the office was briefed about her love life. “Oh, just —”

Having seen and heard everything Randall stepped quickly up, “Mrs Davenport, good to see you!”

The older woman repeated her behaviour with Randall, who also kissed her on the hand before leading the grand dame into his office. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Before entering the conference room, where she could hear the team chatter, Bel stopped by a corner. The flowers held downwards in her hand, missing some pedals already. Rubbing her cheeks and temples, she closed her eyes for a moment. How could this have happened? Maybe it had been a mistake to spend the night with Randall so early on. Perhaps she didn’t know him so well as she thought she did. There was no time to think about it now. There was a show to make, and it better be a good one or her worries would be more significant as of Randall. 

Unsure what to do with the flowers, BEl entered the room and placed them on the next best desk, “Good morning, ladies and gents! Nine hours to go. I expect exception work. Mister Wengrow, what do we have?”

“Where is Randall?” Hector asked not having noticed Mrs Davenport in the house.

“Mister Brown is busy.” The cold tone in Bel’s voice would make water freeze. 

“Busy?” Hector leaned back dragging on his cigarette. “It’s the day of the broadcast.” Bel gave him the benefit that even Hector seemed to know about the importance of it all.

As before, Sissy proved to be not only a source of endless information but also always at the ready to spread it, “Mrs Davenport is in. It’s the usual meet up between Mister Brown and her.”

Hector awed, “Meet up? Why does that sound so saucy, Miss Cooper?”

Sissy gave him a charming smile and a tilt with her head, “Maybe because you want to hear it that way, Mister Madden.”

Lix and Isaac snickered, while Bel was just annoyed, “Isaac?”

“Oh, yes,” the young man browsed through his notes, “The miners in the Northeast announced a strike. As we know, they close the mines bit by bit, and it causes quite a stir. We have a pre-recorded interview with Charles Hardwick, leading chairman of the union. And Minister James Jopsen-Baker in the studio as a representative of the parliament.”

“Why do we have only a pre-recorded interview? Couldn’t you get him here?”

Hector came to his rescue, “We tried, but the man is incredibly busy leading a strike. His words, not mine.” 

“Better as nothing. What’s with the printers?”

“We expect them to work again at around noon, Miss Rowley,” Isaac pointed behind him. The plugs were still pulled. “The technician tracked the faulty line down, and the main station will send an impulse at noon. I’ll get a call for it.”

“Great, let me know about it. Lix?” 

“It’s expected that Senator John F. Kennedy will announce his presidential campaign end of the year. We do a portrait and my friend from ABC has passed us some contacts, to get some quotes and insights. Miss Cooper will help me out, and we’ll be ready for you in a few hours.”

“Sounds… as if we can fill the void for tonight,” Bel checked the time. “Let’s meet again at one, and see where we stand. Thanks, everyone! Oh, Isaac?”

Afraid to be the target of some outbreak of her, he looked at her in fraught, “Yes?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“W-why?” 

Bel held up the flowers, “I have some wonderful flowers here; you should give it to her.”

Isaac shuffled nervously on the spot, “To be honest, I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment,” then he blushed violently and paced away. Bel groaned, spotting Hector who checked the mailbox, “Hector! Flowers! For Marnie.”

“What? No! Me bringing flowers will only raise suspicions,” Hector declined. “She’ll get in a mood and then … her water will break or something. Not ready for that, not on the day of broadcasting. You’ll be without a presenter, so we better not go to risk that.”

By now, the flowers had suffered from Bel’s ups and downs so much, they were about to fall apart, “What is wrong with you all?”

Lix who had watched the interactions snickered, sensing Bel’s discomfort, “What is it with you?” she held out her cigarette.

“What’s with me?” Bel snapped first but then leaned forward to take a drag from Lix’s cigarette. Lix kept quiet, observing her friend until she finally looked at her. Bel frowned and Lix rose and eyebrow. “What?”

Without further delay, Lix grabbed Bel’s arm, dragging her with her, “My office, now!” 

Bel tried to resist, she instead wanted to keep sending malignant glances toward the closed door of Randall and find someone for the flowers, but Lix didn’t let her. 

When the door was closed, the brunette slumped into her stool, lit another cigarette and pointed at Bel to sit down, “What is it? No one gets so angry about flowers.”

Bel rose them, “here, would make a great addition to your office.”

“I don’t have space for it.”

“Oh, then put them in the bin, will you!” Bel slumped down into the chair beside the door. The flowers laying on the ground now. 

Lix kept quiet, only watching her friend who was brooding in the chair unsure of spilling the beans or not. Then again, Bel sometimes needed a push into the right direction, “I mean when it makes you speak, I’ll take the damn flowers.”

Bel broke out into laughter, “I have a very terrible morning.”

“Every morning is terrible,” Lix shrugged. 

“This one is exceptionally good at being so,” Bel assured, rubbing her temple, smoking the cigarette Lix had left to her. 

“Why? It’s just flowers,” Lix pointed at the tormented greens.

“The problem in my life, Lix. It’s never just flowers! It’s …,” Bel didn’t even know what it was yet, just that it was something. 

“Why don’t you tell me what has happened?”

“Too much has!” her hands dropped from her face into the bouquet, a few stalks bending and breaking. “Tell me I am an idiot.” There was an expression of exhaustion on Bel’s face.

“You are an idiot,” Lix lit a cigarette. “So, what has happened? It’s about Randall, isn’t it?”

“We’ve spent the night together,” with it Bel bent forward, resting her forehead in her hands. 

Lix eyebrows raised, “Ah, and how was that?”

Peeking at her, Bel gave a short smoulder coming from the memory of last night, “nice.”

Leaning forward, Lix rested her arms on her chaotic desk, shoving a few pens aside, “how nice?”

Forgotten the misery, Bel grinned stupidly at her, only to remember she shouldn’t, “I don’t think this something I should tell you.”

Lix broke into a burst of short hoarse laughter, “I’ve seen the man naked too, way before your time. Have you forgotten?”

“Actually, yes I have,” Bel buried her face again. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Giving Bel a short moment of silence, Lix dragged long at her cigarette, letting the cold smoke circle slowly out of her mouth up in the air. “Back in the days, he was an exceptional kisser.”

“He is. Oh, damn it!” she hated when she was so easy to manipulate. “We had a quarrel, okay.”

“A quarrel? Like, after your first night?” Lix pondered to get the whiskey out for a moment. “I mean, him and me we had some fights, but you seem to top it all.”

“That’s the encouragement that is not helping, Lix.”

“What was the matter? And what is with those damn flowers?” Lix pointed at them, musing then; “Can’t remember Randall bringing flowers. Not that there were much in the Spanish war. Anyway?”

“It all began with Mrs Davenport. We were a bit short on time in the morning, and he only told me then, that I had to take care of the Editorial and such, while he would be busy with the old bat. It’s an important day Lix. The Hour is about to go down, and he …,” Bel tugged out one of the tulips taking in its scent.

“Well, you know she comes by here and there. And for whatever reason, she is all dotty about him. Randall tries to make the best of it. The old bat is a very rich old bat and her son has a loud voice in the upper floors.”

“I know all that, Lix,” Bel huffed. “It’s not all. Because then, Sissy showed up with this! Remember I told you I was dating this Doctor. It seems he is back in the country, and sent over flowers to re-connect. Unfortunately, Sissy gave them to me in front of Randall.”

“Oh,” Lix considered she was now part in a very poorly written soap opera. 

“The problem is, we haven’t talked about anything yet.”

“What is anything?”

“Him and me. What is this? An affair? A relationship?” When Bel was honest, she wanted to cry about it but was too busy running a news show. “A mistake?”

“Oh, darling! Don’t!” Lix came around the desk, settling onto the footstool, settling a hand on her leg. “The problem is, you are two workaholics. You both work 24/7 for this show, and now you try to juggle in a relationship. Of course, this can’t go as easy as it should.”

With a tear in her eye, Bel considered Lix’s words, “You think, we shouldn’t have…?”

“I think you are going too hard on yourself. I can imagine how it feels for you both right now. But in the end, it’s just a huge misunderstanding.” Lix reached into her pocket and gave her a handkerchief. “Randall might seem like an enigma sometimes, but be assured, when he wants something, he will take all measures, and he will make it clear. You’ll find time to talk, and then everything will clear up.”

With a sniffle, Bel leaned back into the rest, looking at Lix with lines of worry on her forehead. 

There was something in the way Bel pressed herself into the backrest what let Lix let regard her friend a little closer, “Bel? If I didn’t know you as long and as good as I know you, I would say you are afraid.”

“I am.”

“Of what?”

It was hard to admit, not because Lix had been with Randall before, but because accepting would make it an earnest business, “I… I like him. Very! And right now I am afraid it’s just a dull idea of mine, and he sees me as exactly like that. A dull, naive girl, looking for some kind of … sugar daddy. I was happy when I woke in the morning. I wasn’t happy in a while, Lix! And instead of telling him, and spending the day with him, we fought, and now he is with this Mrs Davenport!”

“She is like 70 years old, Bel!”

“You are aware that the age difference to her is smaller as the age difference to me, from Randall’s point of view, aren’t you?” Bel answered deadpan, having done the calculation on the way to the office a couple of times.

“Now you sound even jealous,” Lix broke into a short laugh. “Stop putting pressure on you or him. Stop expecting. You want advice?”

“If I say no, you’ll give it to me anyway,” her sniffle got followed by a soft giggle. 

“Love isn’t always exciting. Sometimes it is exhausting. It’s tiresome. Harsh. Full of anger. Sometimes it is dull, small and sometimes big. Sometimes love is obvious and then again it’s hidden. But when I have learned one thing, then that you have to let love happen.”

“No, way, this is from you!”

“It isn’t,” Lix smirked and went back behind her desk. As the cigarette she had lit before was now burned down, she started a new one. “It’s from him.” With a wave of her hand, she gave Bel the clue.

“Randall?”

“A couple of days before we parted, it was what he told me. I was too stupid and stubborn to understand it, but — and you never let him know — he is right.” For a moment, Lix remembered vividly how he had asked, had begged her to marry him and how she had said he shouldn’t be so ridiculous. Mistakes had been made way before; a marriage would never have worked, still sometimes late at night, she wondered what would have become of them if they had pulled it through. A shipwreck certainly. “You’ll sort it out. I am sure of it.”

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

After the pep talk Lix had given her, Bel had gone back to her office trying to get rid of the hurtful thoughts and the tensions. Randall and her, they both had made minor mistakes, which had blown up because of the crisis the show was in. They both felt responsible for the program, for their staff and all the families that depended on the income. It was their priority.

Sure, people like Lix, Randall and herself would get jobs elsewhere. For Sissy or Isaac and some others, it could mean unemployment quickly. Let alone Bel was not willing to let the Hour end. Not like that, not like a shipwreck which was slowly going down without anyone noticing. It was best to concentrate on the show for tonight, and then she would try to talk with Randall. About what to make of this one night. 

After lunch, Bel checked onto Lix and Sissy’s work and asked Isaac if he had any news about the printers. 

“Expecting the call any minute, Miss Rowley. I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Isaac,” Bel gave him a curt smile before she was about to check for the mails. 

“Miss Rowley?” Bel startled almost hearing the stern voice of Randall. It had been hours since he was busy with Mrs Davenport, but for once that day Bel had truely forgotten about him. 

“Mister Brown,” she uttered, getting tense. 

For a moment Randall surveilled the room with his eyes, peering around like a predator only to end up on Bel once again, “A word… if you please.” 

Internally Bel prepared for the worst but tried not to show how uneasy she felt. “Of course,” her voice managed to sound firm. 

Without waiting for another reaction from him, she went past him in intention to join with him in his office. 

Randall followed quickly, but when they came to the turning point leading to his office, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her the other way, “in your office.” 

She grunted in surprise, not having expected that sudden change of movement or plan. Nor that Randall wouldn’t let go of her arm anymore. Either this was very serious, or he was outraged — for whatever reason. For a second she feared something terrible came off due to the meeting with the grand old dame.

They came up to Sissy who quickly stood up in need to announce something. Randall cut her short, holding up a finger, “Later!” Then he propelled Bel inside her office with one hand and closed the door with the other. 

Having come to a stop in front of her door, Randall let go off her and was now looking around the room with the same prying glance, “The flowers? What has happened to them?” 

Unsure what was the sense of the question, plus his behaviour, Bel felt she was getting upset, “What?” 

Randall turned quickly on his heels, making a step toward her, “The flowers from the Doctor. I wanted to know what happened to them.”

“There are in the bin!” Bel clamoured. He was overstepping his boundaries. 

“Good,” he closed the gap between them, his face now in the proximity of Bel she didn’t know if she liked. His features softened while his eyes flickered to her mouth, “that’s all I needed to know,” and then he was at her, kissing her. 

It was a shock for Bel, one that quickly dissolved into a surprised hum. That wasn’t the usual meet up she had with Randall in her office. Her hands resting on his shoulders; she gave a signal to release her. He did, and they both gasped for air.

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you,” he breathed, his face hovering right in front of her, “but I indeed forgot, because every thought I had the past week was about you.” 

Wide-open eyes stared at him, processing what he just said and had done. If she decided to push him away, he would with no argument, taking Bel’s punishment as he should do. His eyes, suddenly like a tamed puppy, looking at her, pleading for her understanding. 

“You…,” she only said and captured Randall’s lips with verve again, her hands coming around his neck, changing position. God knows what Sissy thought when Randall’s back thudded against the door, while Bel snogged him with full force supported by his arms that embraced her, unwilling to let go again.

“I am sorry I made a fuss,” she stopped, seeing her lipstick on his mouth, “I am sorry about the flowers. It’s from someone I had a date with a month ago. It never was serious.” 

Randall only nodded and pulled her into another kiss. Softer this time, gentle and searing. 

“Have dinner with me. Tonight. My place,” he whispered, aware someone would come in sooner or later. The blinds of the glass front left, and right from her door weren’t shut. If they moved away from the door, everyone would see them—also, a good excuse to hold her as close as possible. “We sort this out. What this is, what we want from it.”

“And what is it you want? Roughly,” she gasped, expecting once more bad news. Something she was unwilling to wait for in unnerving anticipation — not on the day of the broadcast.

“I… allow me to be blunt,” it had been in Randall’s head since the very beginning, “What I can’t be is being Freddie. I just wanted you to know.”

His fear was legit, she could relate, “I don’t want you to be another Freddie. I want you to be you.”

“Then,” he let his fingers tug a strand of hair behind her ear, “Not wanting to anticipate the outcome, but … strictly speaking — for me, Miss Rowley, this is hopefully a longer … commitment.”

With relief, Bel reached for the handkerchief in his breast pocket, gently brushing her lipstick from the corner of his mouth, “It seems, Mister Brown, we have the same perception regarding this.” 

Capturing her hand, he wanted to lean in for a final kiss, when a loud noise began to fill the office floors. 

Sharing a glance, they both knew what it meant. 

“The printers!” Bel exclaimed, giving Randall his handkerchief and he cleaned off his mouth quickly. “They are working again!”

Stepping back from the door, Randall let his hands brush down his jacket and then through his hair. Bel did the same, and pointed at her lips, wondering if it was still good to go. Nodding in agreement, he gestured to himself. It made Bel blush and smile, but then she nodded and opened the door again.

“The printers, Miss Rowley!” Sissy announced with a smile. 

“I can hear it!”

“Let’s see, if they indeed do work,” Randall passed the women, hurrying down to the conference room.

“Oh, Miss Rowley,” Sissy stopped her. “Mister McCain has called,” and after a moments pause, she added, “twice.”

“Did he say what it was about?” Bel wondered. Since McCain wasn’t working for the cabinet ministers anymore, his flow of information had come short. 

“No, he didn’t.”

“I’ll call him back later,” Bel announced and went for the printers. The noise was once more deafening. The printers were going without a pause. “Isaac?”

Randall, who wasn’t able to hear a word, motioned Isaac and the other toward the floor where they could understand each other.

“Good news,” Isaac began, “they are working again. They detected the faulty line.”

“And the bad news, Mister Wengrow?” Lix wondered.

Randall pre-empted Isaacs reaction, by knowing exactly why the printers where going relentlessly, “They are printing now every headline of the last 24 hours.”

Isaac confirmed, “Exactly.”

“Jesus!” Bel wasn’t able to hear her own thoughts. “Is there nothing we can do about it? Shorten the process?”

“If we will, I dare to say, we ruin it or something,” Lix held up her hands. “Best we just let the machines ticker off. It can’t take forever.”

“I agree,” Randall nodded, his hands in his pockets, a frown on. “It’s important we go through the headlines. Mister Wengrow, ask Miss Cooper to help you then.”

“I’ll help too,” Bel motioned with a nod to Isaac, and they all scattered back into their offices again. 

“Oh, Miss Rowley?” Bel stopped. “Are we set, for tonight then? You didn’t yet agree with my proposal.”

“We are. Set,” she sent him a smile. 

“Splendid. And what is about broadcasting, are we set there too?”

“So far I can say, we are,” Bel wondered what happened to Hector. “I need to find Mister Madden. I’ll fear he is a bit exhausted.”

“Why? Is he drinking again?”

“No,” Bel calmed him. “He has a pregnant wife at home, demanding ice cream at three o’clock in the morning.”

Randall couldn’t hide a gleeful smile, “I almost have pity with this man.”

“Ah, but we both know,” Bel turned once more on her heels, “almost doesn’t count. See you then?”

“Certainly.”

When the tickers had stopped after half an hour, Sissy and Isaac took all the papers and placed them into the middle of the table about to go through them. Soon Bel joined in, and even Lix had come with a pot of coffee joining them. It was the usual silence before the broadcast.

After Lix had settled down, reading through one of the longer news, they got joined by Hector, who still seemed a bit off but better as in the morning. Bel had found him taking a nap in his office earlier. 

“All the busy bees,” he commented, rubbing his hands. “Anyone in for a drink tonight? Lix?”

“Sorry, darling,” Lix sipped from her coffee. “I have plans.” She then leaned back into the rest, dragging from her cigarette.

“Oh,” Hector wasn’t happy to hear this. Lix was one of the last reliable bastions when it came to drinking, “don’t tell me you meet up with Mister America!”

His reaction made her chuckle, “Of course I do. Pete is taking me out to dinner, and I won’t say no. Not after a long, unnerving day with you lot.”

“Shouldn’t you better go home, Hector?” Bel asked. “Marnie wouldn’t be delighted smelling alcohol on you.”

Hector huffed and shrugged with his shoulder, only to reconsider what Bel had suggested, “Well, maybe. But she’ll be insufferable so or so. So, why not make it worth it?” Unsure what to do, Hector grabbed a chair and took a note from the table. “Has he popped the question yet? Mister America?”

It had meant to be teasing, but Lix only kept her usual calm, frowning at one of the messages before placing it away, “He already has. Twice.”

Everyone at the table lowered their paper, staring at Lix in disbelief, who didn’t elaborate further.

“You said; yes?” Sissy asked curiously, overrun by the news as all of them.

“Of course not!” Lix was the only one still sorting through the papers, but when she felt four pairs of eyes lay on her, she snapped with her mouth staring at them. “What?”

“You said; no?” Bel couldn’t believe it. “Why?”

“First, I need a man with a bit of stamina regarding this. Second, a woman has to stand her ground, hasn’t she? And … and third,” instead of answering, she went to smoke her cigarette.

“Third?” Bel pressed.

Hector placed his stack of papers back in the middle, earning a scolding look from Sissy, he ignored, “Third, you are afraid!”

“I am not!” Lix protested, but her words staggered slightly. “Because _you_ are an expert, Hector.”

It erupted a snicker from Sissy, “sorry.”

“Miss Cooper seems to be an expert,” he turned to her. 

With that, she only held up her left hand, showing off her ring, “Not want to brag, but I _am_ married, Mister Madden.”

He reached for her hand, held it close to his eyes only to give her an “ah!” and a gentle smile. Then he went back to the topic, “Not an expert in marriage, but in being scared. And you _are_ scared!”

Lix shifted uncomfortably on the spot, “I refuse to give evidence.”

“To what?” it was Randall having looked for Bel and the rest, only to find them chatting happily in the newsroom.

Lix gave him a stern look over the edge of her glasses, “Hector had inquired if I am available for a drink.” She then gave him the same look, making him aware he better keep silent about the marriage topic in front of Randall. By now even Hector had caught on to Lix’s and Randall’s past.

“And she said no,” Hector explained once again in played agony. “Bel? What’s with you? A drink? For good old times sake?”

“Jesus, Hector!” she exclaimed, throwing him an embarrassed look. Lix smirked, giving Randall and her a glance. “I am… I am busy, sorry.”

Randall and her eyes met, and to hide his presence in some way, he reached for some papers and went to lean at the next sideboard.

“Busy?” Hector got frustrated more and more. 

“People getting busy, Hector!” Bel was not willing to budge from Randall’s invite for dinner not even when Hector was dying on the floor. “I … I am having a …. meeting.”

“A meeting?” now Hector knew it was a lie but wasn’t quick enough to process. 

It was Lix, helping him out. Crossing her legs in front of her, she took a long drag of smoke, leaned back with a jolly expression, saying out loud, “I think, that’s the modern term for having a date, Hector.”

“Why is everyone having dates, except me?” It was Isaac who wasn’t able to hold back anymore. 

Bel had pressed one of the papers into a ball she had wanted to aim at Lix but was now throwing at her young co-worker, “you are living with your mother, Isaac. That’s why.”

They all shared a laugh, and even Isaac needed to smirk before blushing very hard. 

“Don’t let them tease you, Isaac,” Sissy sprang to his side. “You’ll find a girl.”

Everyone except Randall made an “aww” sound, but he couldn’t suppress a smirk he shared with Bel.

“Maybe,” Lix put on a devilish smirk, turning around, “we should ask Mister Brown how he will spend his evening?” 

Bel almost hissed under her breath, while Randall only raised his head, looking with a blank expression into a couple of genuinely curious faces. “I am planning on going home after the show, cooking some dinner, Miss Storm,” he explained with no hesitation. “Care to join me?”

Hearing how Bel inhaled a long stream of air, Lix had pity, “Oh, no Mister Brown, I am surely not the right company to have tonight.”

“She is meeting Mister America, anyway,” Isaac quipped. 

Earning another ball of paper, this time from Lix, that hid him at the chest, “When did you get so bold, Mister Wengrow?”

“Hold on, so no one is going for a drink?” Hector asked, slightly forlorn. 

“I am free,” Isaac said without looking up, sorting. 

Hector shuffled with his chair into his direction, “You? Are you even 21, Isaac?”

“Of course, I am!” he protested, his hand coming down onto the tabletop gently. “I go to bars, just saying.”

“Are you?” Hector frowned, wondering if Isaac was an option to spend an hour or two with. “Where?”

“The Old Inn, near Westminster.”

“The Old Inn?” Hector tried to remember his one and only visit a few years ago. “This is the most boring place to go.”

With a very stern voice, Isaac explained, “I am not going there for fun, Mister Madden.”

“But that’s the point, Isaac!” Hector shifted away again. “Having fun with a drink.”

This time it was Randall, helping his young subordinate out, “The Old Inn is a popular spot, frequented by ministers, businessmen and a lot of other people going in and out in Westminster. I daresay Mister Wengrow is visiting not for the alcoholic beverage but the information floating around in such places.”

Straightening his back, Isaac nodded, placing a sorted stack of paper behind him into the bin, “yes.”

“So, Mister Wengrow,” Bel thought about it, “You blend in, trying to rescue the Hour with some big secret you might overhear there? Have you then?”

“No, not yet, Miss Rowley,” he answered glum. “But one never knows, right?”

Watching Isaac giving her a boyish and sad smile at the same time, Bel found him adorable that way, “Isaac, you truly are sweet.” 

Blushing, he lowered his chin, glancing up, lost for words. Then he found composer again and turned, spurred on by the compliments to Hector, “So, Mister Madden, care to join me?”

“I admit Isaac; I envy your commitment. But even if I wanted to spend a boring hour at the Old Inn — and a pregnant wife at home makes you do a lot of things — I fear I’d be no good partner in your crime,” Hector had stood up to get a coffee from the machine.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s fairly easy, Mister Wengrow,” Randall reached for another stack. “Mister Madden is the shining face of The Hour. He is too well known.”

“Isaac, I’ll blow your cover, the moment I enter that den of tediousness.” Only Hector in his inimitable way could make it sound disappointed and proud at the same time. “Oh, bugger, I just go home then.”

“Ah, damn”, Bel suddenly looked up. “I forgot to call back McCain.” She crammed the papers she had in hand together and stood up. 

“McCain?” Randall followed for a few steps.

“Yes, he tried to call twice, but didn’t say what it was about,” Bel said. “I’ll try it now. And you guys, don’t forget we are on air in two hours.”

Randall hesitated for a moment to follow her, but when he saw the rest of the team indulged into another chitchat, he decided to see if Bel was able to reach McCain.

“Any luck?” he watched Bel hanging on the phone, letting it ring a dozen times.

“No,” she hung up. 

He stepped closer, “Odd. Maybe try again later.”

“You didn’t tell how it went with Mrs Davenport,” Bel then remembered him, letting herself down into the chair. 

“The usual,” was his short answer and Bel anticipated something was not right.

“That’s even for you tight-lipped.” 

Randall went to one of her pinboards, putting some of the news clips into order, “The good thing is, she adores us, for whatever reason. The unfortunate thing is, not even she has the power when more as fifty percent of the board wants to get rid of us.”

“And where are we at? How many percent?” Bel asked, afraid to hear the answer.

One of his fingers trailed from a paper clip down along the board, “She didn’t tell, but I wouldn’t be that optimistic. Let’s not worry; we have a show tonight.”

“Miss Rowley, Mister Brown,” Isaac stood in the door. “They are ready for the acceptance down in the studio.” 

“We are coming! Down in a minute.” Isaac left again, and Bel stepped up to Randall who had waited for her. Without thinking, her hands came up, placed on his lapels, “it feels like the last supper.”

Gently he took her hands in his, “Even if so, there is always resurrection. Come on.” Softly he let his right hand trail over her back, leading her out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the feeling I should leave some notes at some point at least. Thanks for everyone following the story. Never be shy to leave a comment. Now or when you have finished. Thanks!


	13. Chapter 13

_Two hours later._

“We are live in, Three, Two,” Bel counted the numbers down with her fingers for Hector. Everything was set. Everything was clear. The topics weren’t extraordinary, but when everything would go right, it would be a solid show. After reading the first block of news beginning to cover the miner’s strike, there was suddenly a restlessness in Siss. She was having headphones on, laying her ear on other channels as usual. 

It was Lix who noticed first as she stood beside her, “Sissy?” At first, she thought, the girl just needed to go to the loo, but when Sissy looked at her with an expression of horror and panic, “Miss Cooper?”

The tone of Lix made Bel and Randall aware something was going not by plan. A quick exchange of looks between the three.

“What?” Bel turned now in whole to Sissy. “What is it?”

“Uhm,” Sissy wasn’t sure if what she had heard was correct, maybe there had been a mistake. “The… PM resigned. Just now.”

Randall’s face became a horrid expression, his voice cracking slightly, “Repeat!”

Sissy swapped to another radio station, “It’s on all channels. The Prime minister resigned.”

“Turn it on! Now!” and when Sissy didn’t react as fast as he wanted, Randall left his place and ripped the cable of her headphones out, making the tone go over the speaker in the small room.

They all needed only seconds to capture the meaning of what the news carried over. The Primeminister of the British Cabinet had resigned, and every News Station in the country was reporting. Except for The Hour. 

As a pre-recorded segment was running and Hector had noticed the turmoil behind the glass he called out, asking what was going on, “Guys?”

Like in trance Bel pressed the button so he could hear her, “The PM has resigned.”

“The what?” he lost it for a second. “PM ... like in Primeminister? How?”

“All the news channels report it,” she went on.

That Hector was not only a being, who could read the news but also a fit journalist he proved by asking quick and correct questions, “How? How do they know and we do not?”

Once more, they all looked at each other, but Randall made a gesture with his hands, to sort it out later, “How long have we left?”

Isaac checked the clock, “One minute, 13 seconds.”

“We have to make an announcement, Randall,” Lix leaned over.

Randall nodded, “When we do, they will all switch to other channels.”

“We have no film, nothing,” Bel recalled in horror. 

Lix knew the consequences, but also her duty as a mouthpiece of the country, “We have to do something! This is news!” 

“53 seconds.”

“The numbers are low when they switch they’ll crash into oblivion,” Randall tried to come up with a solution. 

“That’s against our oath as journalists; you can’t do that!” Lix reminded him. 

“Don’t you think I don’t know that!” Randall barked at her. His jaws pressed together; he threw his pen into the next corner. “God, damn it!” He found Bel looking at him. She knew what he would tell her anyhow, so she pressed the button for Hector again.

“Hector, you have to improvise an announcement, that the PM has resigned,” Bel looked at Sissy, hearing Issac say the number 22, “The reason?”

“No-confidence vote!”

Hector signalled he had heard it and scribbled down some notes quickly. 

“And we are back in three, two, …”

For a second Hector stared at the camera blank, then he found back into his role; “And we interrupt our program bringing you news from Westminster…”

The rest of the show went by in a shocked silence till the lights went out.

“No-confidence vote!” Randall let his hand brush slowly through his hair, trying to fight down the anger that was spiralling through him. “How! When did this even happen?”

He stared at his crew, who stared back in shame and silence. 

Hector burst through the door, “Please tell me — “

“— Hector, shut up!” Bel barked. Her mind having processed the rest of the show dully, now began to work again, going circles of how all this could have happened. 

“Upstairs!” Randall pointed upwards and left front first. “Nobody leaves this place before we do not know exactly what has happened!”

They all gathered in Randall’s office. The distress in his face rarely had seen so much intensity. “How can it be that every news show in this country knew about this? While we frittered away with a strike of miners?” 

After a moment of palpable silence, it was Hector stepping forward, remembering the dialogue, they all had two hours ago.

“Shouldn’t you have known?” he pointed at Isaac.

“Me?” the younger exclaimed. “Why on earth — ?”

“Didn’t you brag about the Old Inn?” Hector was on edge with his patience and Lix needed to place a soothing hand on his arm.

“I didn’t brag about it,” Isaac stepped back hurt, “and I haven’t heard anything. You believe I would have kept that to myself?”

“Stop it! Everyone!” Randall warned them. “The worst we can do in this situation is to blame each other. We work as a team. We win as a team, and we fail as a team. Clear?”

Suddenly it was Sissy snapping with her fingers, “That’s it! The printers! Shouldn’t it have been in the printers?”

“But there wasn’t,” Lix shook her head. “We sorted through them, something like that even the most inexperienced would have known what to make of it.”

“Maybe it got lost? Because of the failure,” Sissy pointed out. 

“Unlikely,” Randall considered it, but then declined it, “they went on for half an hour. When it would have been there.”

All the while the others were talking, Bel became more silent, slowly becoming aware of what had happened. Aware of the strings to the unhappy happening, she felt how her stomach began to turn, sending a feeling of nausea. Stepping back, she stumbled against Randall’s Freudian sofa turning all the attention to her. 

“Darling, what is it?” Lix reached out, steadying her.

Bel shook off her touch by flinching away. 

“Bel?” Randall lowered his head a bit, trying to read in her. 

Shaking by now, Bel tried to fight down the panic attack, “Oh, my God. It can’t be…,” giving Randall a look of despair, she stormed off.

“What’s with her?” Hector asked. 

“You stay here,” Randall pointed at them, and then followed, aware something was about to come to light. Besides knowing Bel had gone to her office, Randall looked left and right down the floor before seeing shadows move around in her office. 

“Bel?” his hand came to rest on the doorframe, watching her holding a couple of papers in hand.

The papers Bel had taken from the conference room, having carried them into his office earlier. “Those are print outs,” she steadied herself at the desk, “I brought when I wanted to call back McCain.” Giving them a last look, making sure they were the ones everybody had been looking for, she held them out to Randall.

Slowly he went up, taking them from her. Without looking, he knew what they were saying. Nevertheless, she motioned him to read them.

“15:34. Prime Minister resigns after lost no-confidence vote,” they would have had enough time to send out a live team to Westminster. 

“I bet,” Bel went to her drawer where she had stored some whiskey, “that’s why McCain tried to call.”

Besides Randall had ordered them the others had slowly crept up to Bel’s office. When she saw them spy inside, she motioned them with a movement of her head inside. Randall gave Lix the papers. 

“We…” began Lix, but wasn’t able to speak it out. 

Bel chugged the whiskey down, “I. I screwed up. Big time.”

“But didn’t…. didn’t you say, you would call McCain back?” Sissy asked, for a moment, doubting that she had delivered the message.

“Yes, I said that,” Bel gave Lix the bottle and the glass, as she demanded it in silence, “I forgot. And when I did, he was not available. And then I forgot about the papers.”

With verve Randall threw the papers onto the table, “It’s enough. For today it’s enough. We —”

— the telephone on Sissy’s workplace rang. They all knew what it meant. 

“I’ll take that one,” was Randall’s reaction. Correcting his tie he took the receiver, “Randall Brown speaking. … Yes. … We are just trying to comprehend the problem. … Yes. Understood.” Hanging up, Randall returned into the room. “This was Mister Brixton. Quiet upset. He’ll be down here tomorrow morning.”

“What do we do now?” Isaac asked, looking at his older co-workers, never having been that deep down in trouble. 

Lix placed a hand on Bel’s arm, knowing how she would feel now, and then turned to Isaac, “We go home, Mister Wengrow.”

Sissy stepped forward almost into the circle of them all, “Just like that?”

Hector’s hand vanished into his pocket; his tie was loose, his hair ruffled, “Just like that, Miss Cooper.”

Randall gave the two youngest a nod, telling them to go home. Hector and Lix were sharing a glance, then looking to Bel who stood there lost.

“Will you be alright?” Lix asked into the direction of Randall. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “Good night.”

Lix grabbed Hector by the arm, “Come one, Hector. Marnie is waiting. There is nothing we can do for today.”

His once very personal connection to Bel let Hector go up to her, “Bel? Will you be alright?” 

Looking up, she smiled at him, “Yes, I will. Go home. Remember the ice cream.”

With this advice Hector let Lix led him away, leaving Randall and Bel behind. Keeping quiet, he watched Bel walk over to the table and take the printouts. Something in her still hoped it was all a mistake, a bad dream, but the letters told the harsh truth. 

A sniffle escaped her, and she very quickly struggled down, “I think we both agree to cancel the dinner in the light of recent events.” To which Randall did not answer. He simply kept standing on the spot looking at her and Bel didn’t know what his intent was. “We should go home now. Tomorrow — “

He had reached out to her, holding both her forearms, so she stood right in front of him. Tugging at her arms to make her look at him,” We win as a team, and we fail as a team. Remember?”

“How easy is that said, Randall, mh?” She bit the inside of her cheeks, hoping to wake up finally. “And would you still say it when Hector would have been the one making such grave mistakes?”

She had a point, and he was aware it was him being the closest to her and she meant way more as Hector ever could. 

“See,” she stepped back, so he let go of her. 

“We’ll sort this out.”

“How?”

“Somehow,” once again he searched her closeness, but he sensed Bel was about to shut him out. “Don’t do this to you, Bel!”

“Too late,” she gasped, a tear now falling from her eye. 

“Let me get you home,” Randall tried knowing she wouldn’t let him. 

“No, I’ll take a cab,” she shook her head, going for her coat. “You should go home, Randall. Tomorrow will be … “

When Lix would be here, she would tell him it was stupid to leave her alone, but she wasn’t, and Randall wanted to respect Bel’s decision. “Are you sure?” 

Having dressed, she grabbed her purse, grabbed a handkerchief and tabbed away her tears, “Yes. Good night.” 

Randall stayed behind in her office, only her desk lamp giving light. In all his years as a journalist, he had seen shows come and go. Jobs. People. This was how it went. The business was a sharp tank. When there was something he had developed a good feeling for, then when a job was going to end. When an idea had expired, when a show had failed. 

Tomorrow wasn’t about a rescue mission. The ship had gone down already. Tomorrow was about how many life vests there were. 

With a sigh, Randall went over to turn off the lamp. Seeing Bel’s desk mat was a bit askew. Under it peaked a small photography, and he gave in, pulling it out. It showed her and Freddie, side by side, smiling for the camera. The edges were worn out slightly. With a sad smile, Randall shoved it back in place and settled the mat into the right position.

Maybe Hector was right, and Freddie was indeed like a ghost going around on these floors. If they wouldn’t fix all this mess, Randall thought, Freddie would become a very lonely ghost. 


	14. Chapter 14

At eight o’clock fifteen minutes, Randall was back at the office after a night of tossing and turning. Sleep hadn’t come easy, and when he looked into the faces of Lix, Hector, Isaac and Sissy, he anticipated they hadn’t had it better. 

When it was going toward 8:30, Randall left his office going over to Bel’s office, finding Sissy sitting as always busy and faithful in front of it. A short glance into the empty office, told him the facts, but he asked nevertheless, “Miss Rowley?”

“Not in yet, Mister Brown.”

Giving it a dissatisfied grunt, he checked the time on his watch again. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Lix approach. She looked tired, and for a second, he wondered if she at least had had her dinner with Mister America, but he didn’t ask. 

“Do we have to be worried?” Her left arm supported by her right, which laid across her stomach—the usual position of her when smoking. 

Knowing she meant for now only missing Bel, he stretched his neck and tensed his shoulders till a bone popped back in place, “Not yet. She’ll be here.” 

“Did you get her home last night?” 

Feeling uncomfortable sharing this information right in front of Miss Cooper, Randall stepped away, and Lix followed. 

“She didn’t let me,” they walked down the floor toward the elevator. “I’ll go down, to the reception, waiting there for Mister Brixton. Keep them all busy.” Then he stepped into the metal cabin.

“With what?” Lix asked, her cigarette going short. As a reaction, Randall turned his hands quickly, holding them in front of him, motioning her to think up something. 

Downstairs he checked the seating area, pushing the chairs into a perfect line, before sorting the thumbtacks. He had spent the evening sitting in his kitchen, over a glass of tonic water laying out a map in his head how this all could have happened. It was quickly done. Moments, misfortune misunderstandings. An endless tower of problems creating pressure on Bel, him and the rest. It had been only a matter of time until a failure like the night before would have occurred. If not last night, then another. 

The words, how to explain this all in a manner a board member like Brixton would understand, were harder to find. An impossibility. He had gone to bed with an empty stomach, his mind spiralling around Bel for hours.

Then the door went open, and Robert Brixton, a steady man, at the beginning of his sixties entered. Not corpulent but massive, carrying a briefcase. Not a journalist, but a businessman. A crisis in the world wasn’t a crisis for men like Brixton, but an opportunity. A shuffling gait but with something that gave him the respect he probably deserved — Randall couldn’t tell.

Taking a deep breath, Randall stepped forward with an expression fitting for the cause. Sever but not hopeless, “Robert!”

“Ah, Randall!” They shook hands. A firm grip, slightly sweaty, and Randall wished for a basin to wash his hands directly. 

“Good to have you here,” Randall went on. Not that Brixton had been in the halls of Lime Grove ever before. 

Brixton let his free hand vanish in his trouser pocket, glancing around the area, with a grim expression, “We both know that’s not true. But thanks for the compliment.”

At least the man was playing with open cards, Randall thought, right to business.

“What the hell happened here yesterday?” the sound of Brixton’s voice turned from pleasant into a tendency of threat. “The whole damn country reported the PM’s resignation. And what do we do? A short interim report?”

“The end of an unfortunate string of coincidences,” Randall let his hand brush over his tie and jacket.

“Don’t bullshit me, Randall. We know each other long enough,” the man huffed, his lips pressed tight together. “I know McCain called you and I know there must have been a printer output. We called the agency. It went out to everyone.”

“Yes, it did, and we know about McCain,” this didn’t come easy. “The call got missed, and as we had had trouble with a faulty ticker the day before — “

“— Randall, I don’t want to hear your excuses. I want to know whose fault this was!”

“It was mine.” It was 8:55, and Bel stepped into the entrance area. 

Randall took a deep breath, noticing her crestfallen expression. Brixton raised his chin slightly, taking Bel in for a second. They didn’t shake hands. Sending a questioning look to Randall, he decided it was best to go somewhere else.

“We should go upstairs into my office, and have this conversation there.”

Without another word, they all joined in the lift. In Randall’s office, Bel took off her coat and placed it over a stool. 

“So? Miss Rowley?” Brixton turned to her.

Randall leaned against his desk; Bel stood by the end of his sofa and Brixton across from her. A triangle. 

“It’s my fault. I missed the call from McCain and forgot to call back on time,” Bel explained without big emotions. “Has Mister Brown mentioned the defect with the printers?”

“He has,” Brixton nodded. “It’s not an excuse; you know that.”

“Of course it is not,” she said harshly. “The message got lost in the many. It’s also my fault.”

Brixton raised an eyebrow wandering between her and Randall. For some reason, he had thought this would be more complicated, “Well, that’s settled then.”

“No, it’s not,” Randall interrupted, and both looked at him. “I appreciate your doing Miss Rowley, but it’s clearly my fault.”

And here, the complications began. 

“What?” Bel asked, her hands pushed into her sides. “You know— “

Randall raised a finger, “— The Hour is mainly _my_ responsibility. I am the Head of News; the name betrays it. It’s, therefore, _my_ mistake.”

Bel was very aware what Randall was at, and Brixton too, “Randall, she already admitted it was her fault, no need for chivalry.”

Randall ignored the man, his eyes directed on Bel.

“He is right, Randall,” she made a step forward. “There is no need for this.”

Hesitating for a moment, considering if he should let the facade drop in front of Brixton, Randall decided he needed to close the distance, “This is not about chivalry. Please, give me a moment with him.”

“No, I won’t,” she protested. “I know exactly what you will do!”

Overruled he was so easily by her, but this time he simply couldn’t let her have her will, “Bel. Just… please!”

Brixton watched the couple half in amusement, half in played impatience. His breath was hearable. 

Randall had grabbed for Bel’s arm, now giving a gentle pressure. After a second holding her breath, she let it out, nodded and left the room without giving Brixton a second look. When she was gone, Randall turned, facing his boss. He knew he had given away too much insight into the relationship with Bel to Brixton.

“Funny,” Brixton went over to Randall’s desk, and reached for the golden lighter of his to spark a cigar. “It’s always the women bringing the men down. Even if you think it’s about money, it’s about a woman somewhere in the background.” When Randall kept quiet, Brixton got a bit angry. “So tell me, whose fault was it?”

“Mine.”

“You want to save her? For what she has done? She admitted to her mistake.”

“She is a brilliant producer, a brilliant journalist,” Randall watched in dismay how Brixton placed his lighter back in the wrong spot. “It was a mistake; she’ll blame herself anyway. We all make mistakes; no need to break her neck for it.”

Brixton only chuckled, blowing smog into the air, “She is obviously your kryptonite, why ever. Have you never learned it’s better to get kryptonite far away from you?”

“You can’t fire her!”

“No, not as long as you say, it was your mistake.”

“It was,” Randall tried to calm down with his anger. “Robert, you know what the Hour is worth. We need time. After Freddie Lyons death — “

“— Freddie Lyon has been dead for a year! Puppy time is over, long over. This program is lacking for a while now, and this yesterday... God, even Channel 3 had people in Westminster. Channel 3! Let alone ITV. Bel Rowley needs to be fired.”

“I need a producer!”

“I’ll get you one of my people,” Brixton shrugged. 

“Robert! You can’t do that!”

“Randall, you are very well aware I can,” Brixton clapped his hands together. “The ratings are under expectations, the topics are dull, and your crew is missing some necessary verve.”

“The ratings will be better, they have gone down over the summer before, it’s nothing new,” Randall assured, aware he was fighting for more than just Bel’s job. “The topics can be discussed and my crew…”

“Is what?”

“Is the best, one can have! If they miss verve, it’s not about them, it’s… it’s about their leader,” Randall inhaled. “It’s me then.”

Brixton rose an eyebrow, “are you offering then?”

“What do you want? Me to leave?” he had feared something like this would happen. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Brixton had never failed to disagree with the style of The Hour, of the many women it inherited and led the show. He had been put to order by the other board members. Now with the ratings down and the incident of the missed PM report, some members had been unsure about the overall success. “Well…”

“Fine. I leave, but you give the show another chance,” Randall agreed then. “I am sure you have come here with a plan, didn’t you?”

With a devilish smile, Brixton reached for his briefcase, “You are a good man, Randall. I value your expertise. There are many jobs you can do. You always knew The Hour was just another job.” Pulling out a stack of papers, he showed it to Randall. A termination contract. 

Like a triumphant winner, Brixton stepped around the desk of Randall and placed the contract right in the middle of it. “When you decide to sign it, you’ll be released from your position with immediate effect. You’re still part of the BBC, of course. Give it a month or two, and I am sure there is something we can offer you.”

“And if I don’t?” 

“I’ll fire Bel Rowley, or maybe I’ll just send her to Berlin for the next three years,” Brixton turned, glancing out of Randall’s office. “The position is still up. Someone has to go.”

Randall considered the contract laying in front of him. The worst he could do now was letting Bel Rowley or his team down. So he concluded; the needs of his crew outweigh the needs of him. 


	15. Chapter 15

Brixton had just left three minutes ago when Randall came to a halt in front of Bel’s door—giving Sissy a short nod with his head, asking her to find a spot somewhere else. She obliged and went to the conference room.

Bel stood by her desk; her back turned at her entrance. Hands resting on the edges slightly bowed. The burden of what had happened pressing her down. When she heard the door go open and click shut silently, she knew it was Randall. 

“Did I lose my job?” her mind had already rattled through a few possibilities. If she put on her best sad smile and some extra makeup, she might get back to her old job. Mister Hemmings might take pity. Might not. She could also leave the country; America was always a good idea. Or she could tingle through Europe. Maybe Lix knew someone. She didn’t like any of those ideas, but what the hell. 

“No,” his low, hoarse voice brought her back. 

Unsure if she had misunderstood, Bel stared through the window and then turned to find Randall’s face in more wrinkles and worries as ever before. 

“Who did then?” it was inevitable someone had lost their job, and she already thought to know the answer. She stepped forward, fearing it to be true. 

Randall had quit jobs before. He had made people so angry to fire him only to ask him to come back the next day. What had happened today in such a way was a first. He inhaled, “I am relieved from my duties, with immediate effect,” then he took off his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. 

“No!” it hit Bel like a wrecking ball, “It was _my_ mistake!” 

Looking at her without glasses, he huffed silently. The problem with it all was that the aftermath of the catastrophe cost more strength as the actual happening, “and you’ll pay for it.” 

“With keeping my job? And you lose it?” 

“It was my mistake also, as Head of News it was my responsibility too.” 

“Sod it!” she knew precisely he had offered his resignation to save her. “You should have given him the satisfaction to fire me.”

That made Randall place his glasses back on his nose, giving it all a dismissive laugh, “Don’t worry, he’ll get to that at a later point.” 

Bel frowned, “what do you mean?” 

“It’s as you say. He wanted to fire you or send you to Berlin. I intervened and signed a step-down contract. I was sure it was the best solution.”

“Why?”

“This is your show, Bel. You can do without me, but the show can’t do without you.” 

“That’s not true.” 

The next thing that happened was four people falling into the room—First Lix, followed by Hector and last Isaac and Sissy. 

Randall only groaned, one elbow supported by his other arm rubbing his temples, in need to find words. 

“What did he say?” as if orchestrated from them all.

There were days, Randall considered it all a mental institution, today was one of it. 

“How bad is it, Randall?” Lix had seen that expression before. She knew him best. 

The way he exhaled, all the others knew this wasn’t a drill. 

“That bad?” Hector asked.

“They are shutting us down, don’t they?” it escaped Isaac. 

Randall looked at him, then at the others, “No. Worse.”

“What can be worse, as shutting us down?” Sissy and Isaac had held onto each other, now exchanging scared looks.

Bel, who hadn’t left him with her eyes one moment, saw he hadn’t the heart to tell them. Saying it out loud would mean making it a fact. As she had worked long enough in the business, she knew what he meant, and when he searched eye contact, she spoke for him, “On the long term; replacing us all.” A nod sealed the deal. “And they fired him.”

“What?” all heads turned to Randall.

“There is something else,” Randall gave the carpet a look and then Bel a forced smile. 

Lix was the first to lose her cool, throwing her hands in the air, “I am too old for this. Just say it!”

“After I signed, he told me the position in Berlin still needed cover, and he wants you,” he turned to Bel, “to send Lix.” 

_Flashback_

_Randall signed, there was no option. And when the ink wasn’t even dry, Brixton took the papers, letting them vanish back in his briefcase. “Fine. Bel Rowley stays.” The flap of the satchel closed with a snap and ended up under Brixton’s arm. “Tell Miss Storm she goes to Berlin, by the end of the month.”_

_Randall’s head came up in horror, “What? You said...”_

_“I said nothing. I said Bel Rowley stays, but the position in Berlin is still up. Miss Storm as the foreign desk is suitable.”_

_Everything was now collapsing like a card house. “We need her here! This show needs a foreign desk; I don’t have adequate people for the position.”_

_“That’s no more your problem,” Brixton let the ash drop into the clean ashtray on Randall’s desk. “The Head of News coming in next months will take care of it.”_

_“Next month? You can’t expect Bel Rowley to cover the Foreign Desk, Producer and Head of News! This will bring the show to its knees!”_

_“Randall.” It was the tone of Brixton’s voice, the pity mixing with the expression of triumph._

_There Randall knew he had been played._

_“Why do you care, eh? You’ll find a job anywhere in the world. The Parisien office will take you back when you ask; I heard excellent things. Times Change. The Hour is a relic, and relicts tend to die out.”_

Bel turned white, “When?” 

“End of the month,” Randall spoke now to Lix.

For once in her life Lix wasn’t willing to pack her bags and leave for another country, “What if I don’t....?”

“You’ll get fired,” Randall answered harsher as he had intended, stepping behind Bel’s desk, because he simply needed something to hold on. A stool behind him he could collapse to when this all would be too much.

Bel was torn between trying to comfort her foreign desk and needing more information from her Head of News, “He is sending someone new?” 

Randall broke involuntarily into a chuckle, “No. He isn’t even sending you a new Head of News anytime soon.” 

As Randall was standing behind her desk, she went to sit on the chair by her table, “So, I have to cover the foreign desk, head of news and my job?” 

“Don’t expect a pay raise.”

“Doing both jobs, raising the numbers, and the quality can’t be done like this!” Bel protested.

“He knows that, as much as we do,” Randall let his eyes wander over the utensils on the desk. He found a rubber and sorted it to a group of pens. “Within two months, we are gone. You are good, Bel, at what you do. Brilliant, but not even you will manage, and this is all he needs.”

“He’ll convince the others to let the show drop,” Hector lit a cigarette. 

“Yes,” Randall agreed. “I don’t know why. I only know what happened today was a long term intent, and we delivered the perfect reason.” 

“This is madness!” Sissy protested but held back with further opinions. 

It was Lix who went on for her, “It was a mistake. Sure, but there is no reason to rip us all apart for it. We’ve done a decent job in the past months.”

“That’s the problem,” Randall’s left hand reached for a pen he shoved to the right, “it’s all we did. A decent job is not a good one.”

“Our ratings are …,” Bel began. They had discussed it a while ago, consenting it was the time of the year with low topics that had led to falling numbers. “They will go back up.”

“We won’t have time for that,” Randall reached for a book unsure what it was about, taking it in hand. 

Without thinking and ignoring the others, Bel went around the desk right in front of him, reaching for the book, without touching his hands. 

“We’ve been careless, Bel. I’ve been careless.”

“We wanted it to be calm after Freddie’s death, and it worked,” Bel urged the book out of his hands, aware of what he would do with it when she didn’t. “It’s not your fault.”

“It very well is my fault,” he grabbed the book from her and threw it in a fit against the next wall. They all flinched. “Where is that tick, you remember? I’ve lost sight of something important.”

“Stop it right there!” Bel reached for his arm, afraid he would throw over the damn desk if she wouldn’t hold him back. 

Lix leaned forward, “We can go back to old strength, be more provocative, be more …”

“It’s too late,” Randall slumped back into the chair. “He played me. Us!”

Bel turned from Randall to the others, “I need a moment with my Head of News. Alone.”

Hector grabbed Lix by the arm, “Come, let’s get a drink. Isaac. Miss Cooper, come on.”

Randall kept staring with a blank expression into the corner by his side. 

“Randall?” 

Giving her a short glance, as if he had thought she had left too, he raised and walked back to his usual spot in the room. “I believed him; I wanted him to believe, because…”

“... because?”

“It’s the best show I’ve ever been part of, with the best team and the best producer I could wish for.” He wasn’t contracted anymore, and therefore no more allowed to be here. “I should go now.”

She had enough. Of him. Of everything. Of everyone not agreeing it was solemnly her fault. “Why the hell did you need to save me?” 

Stopping at the closed door, he turned back to her, “Bel…”

She raised a finger; “I didn’t ask for your … chivalry! Can’t you see, you all made it more complicated by not letting him fire me?”

“Well, I couldn’t know that,” he felt attacked and misunderstood. “I was sure he just fires someone. It was you going to Berlin for three years, your job or mine. I offered him mine in the best intentions to keep this show running.”

“You should have let me down!” That she acted like an unbearable child by now was obvious to herself, but she couldn’t help it—all the pressure it had to get out of her system. There had been a sleepless night. A million thoughts. Why couldn’t Randall understand?

Walking back to her, almost invading her personal space, Randall stared at her in a grim mood. Why couldn’t Bel understand? There was something he couldn’t put into words. Not yet.

“Say something!” she demanded after a felt eternity of only looking at her.

“I’ll pick my things up another day,” he stepped away only to stop by the door again. “Remember, your coat is still in my office.”

With his leaving, she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

After Randall had left the office, he had spent the day separating out some things of his wardrobe. Dropping some suits and shirts at the cleaners. Sorting his books, cleaning the bathroom only to end up in his kitchen at the kitchen table, in front of a bottle of tonic water pondering about the day. Should he call the office? Could he have done more? He couldn’t tell, his head was caught somewhere between about to explode and empty of ideas. 

Deep inside of him, he knew what he had to do. Already having an idea, but it was too early. Even he, from time to time, needed a moment to reflect, a moment to grieve. What Randall needed was a night of tossing and turning before realising he had to go to action.

When morning came, Bel had only slept because she had emptied way too much of a bottle of vodka. Now, with opening her eyes, regretting it immensely. On the other hand, glancing at the clock — it was close to nine — there was no reason to get up. What for? Was that indeed expected after such a disastrous day as before? She’d lose her job in the long term so or so, what would it matter? 

She knew it wasn’t the professional way to behave, but sometimes even she needed a day calling rebellion. The fight was lost anyway, and she didn’t feel in any mental state to face the teal painted floors of The Hour just now. Having urged the grief away with the alcohol the night before, it was about to return soon. 

Without her consent, the crying fits began shortly after opening her eyes, the reminiscence of the day before flashing up before her closed eyes again and again. And then they came in at regular intervals. Every one seemed harder as the one before. 

Soon Bel found herself at the end of her strength, owned the fact that the alcohol let have her sleep, but it hadn’t been anything but a healthy rest, a dazed night spent in turmoil.

At least she found the will to dress into her slacks and a jumper and moved to her sofa. Every time wiping away her tears and drying her nose, again and again, she told herself to get a grip. Only to be tortured by a thought, worry and the guilty feeling regarding the day and she burst out into another cry. How many tears could someone spill? 

Luckily it rang at the door when she was just getting over with another wave of tears. Shocked and surprised she cleaned her face with the back of her hand - not having enough paper handkerchiefs for such drama. Bel guessed it was Mrs Smith again and decided to stay put, not reacting to it. Then it knocked gently at her door, a familiar voice calling her name. 

She hesitated but found herself rising. Standing in front of the door, she heard her name again, and she decided it was best to open up. Turning the key, she rattled the jammed door, to get it open. With help from outside, it went open reasonably smoothly, revealing Randall standing there in front of it. 

He hadn’t known what to do, till he had been ringing Miss Cooper’s desk at about 9:30 hearing Bel wasn’t in. The message had made him spill a glass of water due to a sudden movement. When the water dropped over the kitchen counter, dripping slowly down the floor, he knew he had to find Bel. 

Standing there, even in the dim light of the floor — all curtains in her apartment drawn — it was easy to see she had cried a lot. In her eyes, small red lines had built through irritation and salty tears, mascara from the day before smeared and her nose was rubbed red. The faint whiff of alcohol hanging in the air. A familiarity from long ago for Randall. It tore at his heart to see her like this. 

When she took him in, she thought he couldn’t be real that he was just an imagination. An imagination wearing a black jumper, under it a button-up shirt and a dark blue tie with little cream coloured dots — the one she always thought suited him best. His coat over his shoulders, his hat on, quickly taking it off when seeing her. 

He shouldn’t have left the office just like that, he thought. It had been one of his traits to run away from conflicts regarding his life, and besides, it was just a lost job; the consequences ran deep with his blooming feelings for Bel. After finding out that Sofia had been killed being only two, he had made a promise to himself; to be better, “I am going to repair this damn door right the next day — don’t even argue!” 

Bel escaped at first a little laughter only to end in another sob. Randall stepped forward, spreading his arms slightly and Bel collapsed with cry and tears against him. 

Rubbing his hands soothingly over her back in dire need to comfort her. Softly he hushed her, shuffling them both inside before someone would get noisy. 

“Oh, Randall, what have I done?” she muffled into the crook of his neck. 

He grabbed her shoulders, making her look at him. Her face being wet all over, he pulled out his cotton handkerchief, pressing it against her cheeks to dab the tears away, “Come on, we get you into a shower. I’ll make some toast and a cup of tea. You had a go at yourself the whole day and night. It’s time for a break.”

Sniffing once more, she nodded. “You came,” it was more a cracked whisper, but the way her eyes seemed to have a little hope made him incredibly happy.

“Of course, I came,” he placed a kiss on the forehead, motioning her to the sofa. “Have you slept?”

“More or less,” her eyes flickered to the still open vodka bottle on the kitchen counter. With Randall present, she became aware of how irresponsible it had been. “Why are you here?”

“I called the office,” Randall explained while putting the bottle away and beginning to put the kettle on and toast out of the fridge. “You weren’t there, and I was worried. So, I came.”

Hearing his words, Bel felt another emotional outbreak coming. Quickly she pressed both her hands into her face. The last thing she wanted, was him seeing her cry relentlessly. 

“Bel, I think we can sort it out,” Randall stepped up the sofa between him and her. 

Lowering her hands a bit, she looked at him, “how?”

He had no plan whatsoever, “As you and the others said, we can try to bring the ratings up, be more provocative, do a better job.”

It sounded like a plan, Bel had to admit, but it was doomed to fail, “Soon Lix will be gone. To Berlin, fired or she has resigned. You are gone, leaving me with three jobs. When Fenley was gone, I was taking care of it for nine months — the show lacking. You’ve pointed it out on your first day. And that was only two jobs. It’s impossible!”

“I could work as an adviser,” Randall proposed in the act of desperation.

“Brixton never would allow it.” When he had no idea, no one would. “You’ve just been fired.”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Randall went back to the kettle and filled the hot water into a mug. “I could work in the background.”

“I need my Head of News by my side!”

Resting his hands on the counter, his head dropping slightly, he huffed. The calm sea that had accompanied them for so long had turned into a perfect storm, having dashed the ship “The Hour” into pieces. And now, the ones left would soon be scattered — victimised — to the four winds.

“I wish…” Bel trailed off. 

Her words made him turn around, “You wish what?” He sensed those two words meant more as intended. 

First looking at her entangled hands, Bel looked up, finding him peer at her over his shoulder, while his hands were still holding on to the counter. Which moment could it be? To not make her oversee the ticker news, not miss out on McCains call? Which act? What if she had never found interest in Randall? What if she had never asked him over a third time? What if her telly had never broken? The past was never good to discuss with. 

“I… I don’t know. I only know it was me who brought the show down and no matter what you say or do,” she slowly stood up, “it will always be my biggest regret to let it come to it.”

Then she went to take a shower, and Randall went back making something for breakfast well aware those words contained a message regarding him and their bond.

Just when he heard the water running, there was a knock on the door. Holding the plate with the toast in hand, Randall glanced between the closed bathroom door and the entrance door, unable to make a decision. Then it knocked again.

“Bel?” 

Randall’s eyebrows went up. That voice was familiar. Quickly he placed the plate onto the coffee table when it knocked again. This time the familiar voice was calling out his name. It was enough for him to hurry to the door and rip it open for just so much space that his face fit in. 

Lix.

“Ah!” she exclaimed smugly. “Wasn’t I right to reckon you here.”

“Miss Storm?” 

One talent Lix envied Randall for was; he always had the capability to put all he wanted to express in only saying her name. “We are here— “

“— We?” Randall opened the door a bit more, and Hector appeared from behind Lix with one of his goofy smiles. “Mister Madden, what on earth are you doing here?”

Hector escaped a giggle, “What are you doing here?”

If he were still Head of News, this would have been the moment to fire Hector, “I asked first!”

Lix couldn’t hold back a snort, “I told him about you two on the drive here. That said, ignore him, he just wants to be insufferable.” 

“Who would have thought!” Hector stated as if he was close to a victory but of course, wasn’t. 

“Don’t!” was all Randall said to him. “So, what is going on?”

“Is Bel okay?” Lix asked then, honestly concerned.

“She is taking a shower,” Randall nodded inside of the apartment. “The situation is getting to her.” 

“Understandable.”

Randall decided it made no sense in having this conversation outside, so he opened the door completely, “I assume you want to come in?”

“Actually yes.” Hector reached quickly for the door before Randall would change his mind, looking at the same time down the floor.

A gesture which raised Randall’s suspicion. 

“We have to wait for Mister Wengrow,” Lix explained reading in him.

“Mister Wengrow?”

“Yes, he is looking for a parking spot. He is also essential for this meeting!” Then they all heart hurried footsteps, and Lix proceeded, “ah, here he is!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Isaac reached the trio slightly out of breath. “Mister Brown. So good to see you.”

As answer Randall opened the door wide, giving them all a grumpy look, “do we need to wait for Miss Cooper too?”

“No, we told her to hold the line in the office, but we promised we would call her from here,” Lix got her coat off and pressed it with a winning smile into Randall’s hand. He hung it up with mild exaggeration.

Gathering in the small living room, Randall’s arms went akimbo, “I hope for the sake of all of you, this is better be good or— “

The bathroom went open, and Bel entered the living room, wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair tied into a ponytail. When she found three more people as expected in her living room, she yelped, “What!”

“Hello,” Isaac waved. 

“Bel,” Hector clearly remembered some long-gone times with her and Lix just smiled silently at her.

In her distress, Bel grabbed the lapels of her robe holding it close and threw Randall a quizzical look.

He wasn’t able to explain it and just pointed with both hands at the others. 

“We are here to help, darling,” Lix began, and it dawned on Bel that she didn’t mean to help with the cleaning of the apartment or similar. Lix turned to Randall, “The Hour means family.”

“And family means,” Hector walked around the sofa and sat down in one corner, “nobody gets left behind.”

For a second Bel was convinced, this was staged from beginning to an unknown end, when Isaac wouldn’t have said; “And I thought; it means the most important sixty minutes of your week.”

Losing her nerves with the young man, Lix pushed him to sit down between Hector and her, “We have news.”

Randall was getting a headache, and he rarely ever got one, “Get it to Uncovered then!”

Ignoring him, Lix turned to Bel, “Sit down, darling.”

“I am in my bathrobe!” 

“And you look lovely in it,” Lix gestured. “Sit down!”

Sharing a glance with Randall, they both decided to do so. Bel took one chair and Randall another. 

“Wait!” Hector jumped up and went to get Bel’s phone. “We promised to call Miss Cooper,” without waiting he took the receiver, “Give me Lime Grove, 732, please. Miss Cooper? She is in the line.”

“Is this a joke?” Randall watched Hector sit down again, the phone in his lap.

“Hold your fire, Randall!” Lix motioned at first at him and then at Isaac.

“What fire?” he protested, and Bel couldn’t hide a smile.

“Mister Wengrow,” Lix turned to him, “it’s your stage.”

“Uhm, so, after yesterday evening I went for a drink,” Isaac began, shuffling uncomfortably on the spot. “At my usual spot. The Old Inn. It was quite empty at the beginning, a bit of a low evening in general.”

“Isaac?”

“Yes, Mister Brown?”

“If you are not going to hurry up, I am going to hit you with my shoe.”

“Let him tell!” Lix admonished Randall. “Go on, Mister Wengrow.”

“I was sitting at the bar, minding my business when I spotted a man. Not corpulent but a steady build. Mister Brixton.” That was the first time Bel and Randall both changed posture, leaning slightly in, “with another person I knew I should be familiar with but wasn’t sure. Anyway, they talked about the evening before—the disastrous broadcasting mentality of … of The Hour. My interest peaked, but of course, I guessed a lot would talk about us like this. Then it got interesting because the first man suddenly said something like; this was better than any other plan I had in mind. The Hour has played into my favour without knowing, sealing the deal for us.”

“Deal?” Bel asked. “What deal?”

“Wait for it!” Hector smirked.

“They went on like this for a bit, and then I realised who the other person was,” Isaac let a dramatic pause happen. So long that Randall lifted one finger, reminding him of his promise to hit him. “Charles Raymond-Stewart.”

Bel and Randall leaned back in surprise in unison.

“Top board member from ITV?” Bel asked, shocked, turning to Randall for confirmation.

Slowly he began to nod, “Responsible also for Undercover.”

“Didn’t I say this would be a good story?” Lix leaned back. “Marvelous Mister Wengrow, marvellous!”

Randall stood up, his mind beginning to race, “So Brixton planned to bring us down sooner or later. We just played into his hands being sloppy.”

Bel also raised, while the other three plus Sissy on the phone listened in awe, “You think what I think?”

“I think Brixton is going to ITV, lured by a ton of money which would be even more, when The Hour loses it’s spot as a competitor for Uncovered,” Randall put it all together for them.

“Quiet a bastard,” it slipped Hector. “Hope he has Panel Games in his small print as well.”

“I doubt it, Mister Madden.”

“Well,” Lix waved her hands, “as said, it’s a nice story, but we can’t prove anything.”

“I heard it!” Isaac reminded, sounding offended that he still was just not enough.

Lix placed a hand gently on his forearm, “You did record it by chance? Because if not, it would only mean — “

“— a resentful The Hour crew tries to frame one of the highest BBC board members. They’ll think we are deranged.” Bel turned to Randall, awaiting an idea. 

Being in a zen-like state for a minute, Randall suddenly stepped forward and pointed at Isaac, “That’s it!”

“What?” Lix shuffled out of the tight position on the sofa. “What are you planning?”

Randall motioned to Hector, precisely to the phone, “Is Miss Cooper still in the line? Miss Cooper, are you still there?”

“No, Sir, I was taking a nap for a moment,” she answered pettily. “What do you think?”

Pressing the receiver against his chest, Randall looked approvingly to the others, “That woman should not be tampered with,” and then back to his ear, “I need you to make a phone call to Mister Brixton’s office. That I want to see him at,” quickly he checked the time, “let’s say four o’clock in the studio. And be precise. Studio, not the office.”

“What if he declines?” Sissy asked, well aware Randall was no more on the pay list.

“Miss Cooper, if he does, The Hour will be history definitely, so you better make sure he won’t,” which meant he gave her all the liberties to lie on the phone. “Second, I want you to call Mrs Davenport’s secretary. I’d like to treat her for an early lunch tomorrow, or a later breakfast, whatever suits her.”

“I will!” Sissy noted it all down and then hung up without another word.

“Randall!” Lix was by now impatient. 

“Miss Storm,” Randall gave her a thin smile, “what are we good at?”

“Making the news,” Hector said bluntly. 

Randall’s had popped left and right in rare amusement, “So, it’s exactly what we are going to do.”

The penny dropped for Lix, “You are never going to make Brixton speak about it in front of a camera!” Randall pursed his lips at her, and the penny dropped a little more. “You are! Utterly Absolutely insane. I love it!”

“You three, go back to the studio. Miss Rowley and I will follow,” he looked her over, “as soon she has dressed.”

Lix grabbing both men she had come with, pushing them outside, and they made their goodbyes. While the door closed, Randall could hear Isaac ask what the actual plan was. It made him chuckle. 

“Don’t you underestimate Brixton?” Bel hadn’t moved an inch into the direction of her bedroom. “If this fails, you’ll never find a job somewhere again. Brixton will ruin you!”

With a solemn expression, Randall stepped up to Bel, reaching for her hands, “I know. So, it better works.”

“Why? Why are you risking this all?”

Aside the answer was simply, Randall hadn’t had the courage yet to say it out loud, “Because of this … this team is worth it.”

Unimpressed, she shook her head, let her hands drop out of his and went to get dressed. 

With a sigh, Randall realised that at the end of all this, there was probably more damage to patch as he was able to.


	17. Chapter 17

Everything in the studio was off the power, except one of the main spotlights illuminating the seating area where Hector used to do the interviews. Two chairs, a table in the middle. The desk was missing, pushed to the side. The rest of the place, including the ‘aquarium’, the room behind the glass wall, where the rest of the team used to control what was seen on screen. 

It was three minutes after four and in a sort of unnerved verve the door to the studio went open, revealing Robert Brixton, puffing smoke from his cigar into the air. Following the light, Brixton wandered to the spotlight, “Hello? Anybody here?” 

With his words, a second light came on, and Brixton turned startled by the loud noise into the direction of the aquarium finding Randall stand in the doorframe of it.

Blinded by the light, Brixton raised a hand to his eyes, “Randall?”

“Robert!” quickly Randall climbed down the small staircase that led to the newsroom with a soft spring in his step. They met right at the cameras.

“Your secretary, well your former secretary, called,” Brixton looked visibly annoyed. “A matter of … urgency. I am not dense Randall, I fired you yesterday, so if this is better be important.”

Randall whos hand had been in his pockets, let his eyebrows come up for a second. 

Taking one hand out and motioning to the two stools in the spotlight, “you’ve never been here, have you?” 

When Brixton did not react to his offer, Randall walked passed him and took a seat in the one stool, Hector used to sit. 

Giving the dark area another glance, Brixton decided it was more comfortable to sit also, “No. And why should I?”

“That’s the difference between you and me: a businessman and a journalist. You don’t appreciate the setting of a good newsroom,” Randall took off his specs, got a handkerchief out and cleaned the glasses slowly. 

“Is this why you wanted me to visit?” Brixton leaned forward, sucking at his cigar, showing his teeth. “Giving me a tragic monologue about a dead show?”

Randall chuckled, putting his specs back on, “No, I called you because I wanted to tell you a story.”

“A story?”

“I am a newsperson. I don’t look like it,” Randall gave him a thin smile, “but I adore a good story.”

Brixton frowned, the feeling he had wasted his time was getting stronger, “Listen, Randall, you either come to the point, or you are wasting my time.”

“I promise it will be worth it. This story,” he raised his hands in an effort to stop Brixton from standing up. “It’s a good one. The problem is, it doesn’t have an end yet, but I assure you, when we finished, you’ll tell me how it ends.”

xxx

“It’s a story that begins with a high ranking board member working for the Biggest Public Service Broadcaster in the country. A man, well known for seeking success and profit with the shows he promotes. Assumably considered. A man who is willing to make harsh decisions because they have to be made. For the sake of the company as it seems. As it seems!

“Because the man is actually a spider, and one day comes along a possibility. The spider wants a little bit more as the homely net offers; he wants something the broadcaster he works for never can offer. Money, a whole lot of! And the spider is easily lured by switching nets — and I can’t even blame him for it.

“But the possibility of switching from one meagre place to the one with the fat profits doesn’t come without a demand. A necessary offering, which has to stay a secret because some things better not be told. And the spider is willing, willing to pay the price, because it’s not him paying it, it’s the so-called Queen of Hearts in the program paying it. What does it matter anyway? The Queen is lacking, probably three months before cancellation and it needs just one tiny mistake to push the card over the table. She even helps, unwillingly and the spider knows where to bite and how to kill.

“The offering; just perfect for the new home full of other spiders.”

“Are you drunk?” Brixton had listened without any outer emotion to Randall’s story but became now slowly uneasy in his chair. “Or are you completely insane?”

“The spider I am talking about is you, Robert. ITV has called, am I not right? An opportunity and you offered, willing to bring the Hour down. The spot would become free; you make sure everyone would be scattered somewhere. Berlin. Paris. Jobless. The spot replaced with nothing but a block of commercials while Uncovered would raise to the top of the news broadcast.”

“You are insane! Why would I do that?”

“Because the spiders new net is ITV. A place in the board. Fat profits included. You’ll leave the BBC and with a good portion of time, let’s say three months, one day you show up at South Bank Waterloo as if there was never any other place to go. The Hour forgotten, the people out of reach. But a crime has been commited! A verdict never spoken.” 

When Randall had finished, Brixton kept seated looking at him. Randall was sure Brixton tried to understand if he was bluffing or not and what his intent was.

“Nice story, Mister Brown,” he shrugged, trying to sound and look indifferent. “What do you expect me to say to it? There is not one word I will or can confirm. It’s all made up. A story you came up with, just on the whim. We are sitting here in a studio, with cameras. Do you think I am that stupid?”

Randall hummed, and then chuckled, “You are afraid I record all this?” he went toward the front camera and pushed it away. “This is not working obviously.”

“Still, when you believe I say anything to this, you have no idea what is going on.”

Randall slowly went back to his seat, “Maybe,” then he leaned forward, reaching under the table and brought out a folder containing visible papers, placing it into his lap. “But you have to ask yourself, how do I know all this? With whom have you talked Robert? Who can you trust?”

Brixton’s eyes flickered to the papers in Randall’s hands, “Bullshit!”

“Is it? I wonder what Charles Raymond-Stewart would say to all this when even only the whiff of a rumour hits the news. Of course, the show would go down, but I am certain,” Randall leaned forward, “someone would look out what you would do. You only have to come close to Waterloo, and someone would take care all this hits the boulevard press, and I am sure Charles knows all this too.”

Cheeks becoming red, anger crawled into the eyes of Brixton, “You wouldn’t!”

“Test me, Robert!”

“What do you want? Money?”

“I’ve heard, everyone has a price,” was all Randall answered.

“ITV is always looking. With you onboard, Uncovered could become one of the best shows on telly.” Brixton leaned forward, his cigar in the fingers of his hand he held toward him while emphasising his words. “Three months, I make you Head of News there. You make two times what you make here.”

“That’s quite an offer,” Randall’s hand absently cares over the folder. “But I have a question.”

“Ask.”

“Why, Robert? Why did you need to get The Hour sunk?” Randall’s eyes flickered back and forth, trying to understand. “Couldn’t you just switch?”

“As you said, with the Hour gone, profits would go up,” Brixton explained. “It’s a hard-fought market. Sacrifices have to be made from time to time. What do you care? My word stands. Three from now on, you can be a well-made man with Uncovered or any other show.” 

Randall began to nod, “I have your word?”

Brixton reached into his pocket and brought out a lighter, holding it toward Randall, “Well, there is one condition -- obviously. But you have my word.”

Taking the lighter he looked at it for a moment before lightening it, the flame flickering fast. Randall grabbed the file and began to hold a corner into the fire.

“It’s not bad at all we all have our price,” he was about to laugh heartily when Randall shut the cap of the lighter down and threw the map onto the floor to tread out the fire. “What are you doing?”

Randall looked at him, then the papers that had scattered due to his rough treatment. They were all blank pages, “No need to torch down Lime Grove for this, I think.”

“What?” Brixton was confused, pushing the papers around. Revealing nothing but white. “What in God’s name you are playing?”

“Wren. Often asked in crossword puzzles,” Randall let the lighter vanish into his trouser pockets. 

“Wren?”

“Yes, a little _brown_ bird.” A question mark popped up over Brixton’s head. “Anyway,” Randall pointed at the aquarium, and out of a sudden, the lights went on. Revealing Bel, Lix, Hector, Sissy and Isaac standing there. 

“I don’t understand!” Brixton looked at the papers. “When you have no evidence at all, how on earth do you think you can convince anyone? Nobody will believe this crew, nobody!”

“No, they won’t believe our words, and they don’t have to,” Randall stepped forward and reached once more under the table, getting out a microphone that was hidden under it. “Because this camera,” he pointed at the one he had moved away earlier,” hasn’t recorded anything, but this,” he looked at the one in the shadow behind him, “has and the microphone has recorded for sure. Has it Mister Wengrow?”

Isaac reached for something, pressing a button of the recorder rewinding it a bit, “I think this speaks for itself,” Isaac pressed another button. The voice of Brixton came over the speaker. 

“Bastard!” Brixton made a step forward. “You should have taken what I offered you!”

“Everyone has a price,” Randall smiled challengingly. “And you didn’t offer mine to me.” 

Brixton kicked the papers on the floor away, “You’ll go down! I make sure of it!” With those words, Brixton stomped off. 

Randall followed slowly and met up with the others by the small staircase. 

“This was brilliant, Mister Brown!” Sissy was the first to erupt into cheers. 

“The game is not won yet, Miss Cooper,” Randall let a sigh of relief escape. “But when Mister Wengrow has copied everything to a save place, I’ll make sure Mrs Davenport and the other board members will hear of it. We can assume Raymond-Stewart from ITV will deny everything to prevent a lawsuit and problems with the cartel office. Brixton won’t get the seat in the board. The BBC will eventually take juridical steps, or they find another agreement. I am sure there is a chance The Hour will get a second chance to prove its worth.” 

“I can’t believe you did that!” Lix stepped forward and pondered for a moment if she should hug him but decided against it then. Instead, she gave his hand a soft nudge. Randall smiled gently at her.

“A wren?” Isaac wondered out loud. “Why did you mention that, Mister Brown?”

Randall laughed softly, “You know what eats spiders, Mister Wengrow? Birds.”

“And you think Mister Brixton understood that reference?” Hector stepped forward. 

“I don’t think so,” Randall shrugged. “I am sorry I took your seat Mister Madden, but I am sure you forgive me.”

“Oh, well,” Hector tried to sound dramatic, “I can let you be the face of The Hour for one time, but…”

“But what?” Randall frowned.

“The light,” Hector pointed at the lights, “too bright on your face. Bounces around. Amplifies the cheeks.” He ended with a grin and a clap on Randall’s shoulder. 

Randall noticed that Bel was still inside the newsroom, not having joined the others and glanced at Lix.

“You better talk with her,” she understood his look. “Something is not right. She is off, and I am worried she takes all this too close to her heart.”

Nodding, Randall agreed in silence, “You go, we meet up later. I’ll talk with her.”

Slowly approaching the inside, Randall found her sitting on the spot where he usually sat during a broadcast. 

She was staring straight out to the studio but raised her head when she heard him approach, “I just realised, I have never seen you in a jumper before today.” Her legs crossed, Bel tugged at the edge of her jumper. She hadn’t put on a costume in the morning but a more comfortable outfit, everything else would have taken too long. 

Looking down at himself he went to the chair in front of her, pulling it out from under the chair and sat down. Keeping silent seemed the best strategy for him. 

“Mister Wengrow probably deserves a raise,” she said, looking around in the room only to end up on Randall. A nervous smile appeared on her face.

“I make sure he gets one,” he answered. “Bel?”

“Sad Freddie couldn’t witness this,” she quickly went on, afraid of something. “This, today would have been just something he’d love to be involved in.”

“Yes,” Randall pressed his lips together, forcing them into a smile. “He would have.”

“You saved the day,” Bel began nodding. “It was amazing. Brixton got what he deserved. The Hour certainly will not be cancelled, and you will get your job back, eventually.”

He saw her battle with upcoming emotions and quickly went up kneeling by her side, and Bel fell forward into his arms, with a soft sob, “You must be so disappointed in me.” 

Caressing her hair and shoulders, he held her tight, “Let me tell you, in these two years there was never a day I was disappointed in you. I was only amazed and proud of what you did for this show for our team. For me.”

Bel leaned back, facing him, distraught written all over her face, “And you don’t just say this because….?”

He gave her a gentle smile, feeling her emotions and turmoil rub off, “Of course, I say this because you mean so much to me by now. But I also say it, because it’s true.” Randall found himself in deep emotional trouble seeing Bel in such a state. Something was not right, exactly as Lix had said but he couldn’t place a finger on it. The past days had been full of force and emotion. The truth was, he was so scared of losing her, and he didn’t know what he could do about it. 

And then she kissed him, hard. Holding him close, and Randall needed one hand on the table to balance them out, or they would have landed on the floor. The other around her back, his fingers sprawling by her neck.

“Let me get you home, you look tired,” Randall held her by the shoulder. “We …”

“Not today,” Bel read the disappointment in him, “I need a night to sleep about some things. This all weighs heavy on me. It works inside me. That all this was my mistake, and there is nothing you can say right now to stop me from having those thoughts.”

They both stood up, and Randall reached out to take her face between her hands, he wanted to tell her how much he cared for her, how close he was to fall in love with her. That he understood her feelings, and he hoped she wouldn’t make any rash decisions, but the words failed him and also his courage. “I’ll call you a cab.”

Looking at him, with an expression of sadness and helplessness, hurt Bel more as anything else. Randall wanted to help her, but it was something she couldn’t allow. There were so many thoughts inside of her; all in turmoil about him, about the show and her future. Nothing seemed to fit together. Deep inside, she felt her heart was with him, but there was also doubt about the future, about topics they hadn’t discussed yet. And then she was missing Freddie. For the first time since his death, she was missing his opinion on all this—his advice. 

It would be the next day, bringing solutions, complications and sacrifices.


	18. Chapter 18

Right in the morning, Randall had met up with Mrs Davenport, an Hour later half the board of the BBC was in an uproar. Close to a scandal. Another hour later, decisions had been made. Brixton had to leave. The Hour, however, receiving a second chance to prove its worth. The termination contract Randall had signed got torn apart. Lix wasn’t pressured to leave to Berlin, but asked, which Randall declined for her — as friend and Head of News. With this, the position in Berlin still up. It was the only demand from the board; one of them had to fill the gap. 

It was three o’clock afternoon when Bel entered Randall’s office. Isaac was just coming out, nodding at her. She watched Isaac vanish down the floor into the conference room, and saw Randall sit at his desk. He hadn’t seen her all day, only briefly. 

So his face lit up when she entered. There was much he needed to tell her, “Ah, I just—” 

“— Sorry,” she cut him off, closing the door then. “We need to talk!”

Randall sensed something wasn’t quite right and frowned. Bel was tense, the way she kneaded her fingers of the left with the right always betrayed her. Just when he wanted to answer, she cut him off again, by raising a single finger, indicating he should better be so polite not to interrupt her. 

Suddenly her hands didn’t know where to go. Nor the hip of hers, nor crossing her arms in front of her seemed to be a good position. She wished she had a book or some papers in hand. 

“Listen…,” and then, besides having run through the words over and over again on her way to the office, they failed her. 

“I will,” he said cautiously. After he had called the cab, he had let her to the car. Had given the driver the money, and had told her to call him if there was anything he could do. Bel had only nodded.

Commenting on his succinct words with a forced smile, Bel decided it was better to get to the point quickly, “Berlin. I’ve decided to go.”

The pen Randall held in his hand dropped down the last inch to the mat on his desk, “What?” He then rose, staring at her in disbelief, well aware she avoided constant eye contact.

“The position is still up, and I decided it’s best to take it up myself.” 

“The Berlin position is—” 

“— way too important!” It was the weak excuse she told herself. “Sending Lix is not an option. She is needed here. I concluded it’s best I’ll leave.”

Randall had come around his desk. Something was at stake. “This is ridiculous!” 

“We both know; it’s not,” by now her hands had come across in front of her. “Finally, a chance to brush up on my German.” 

“What German, Bel?” He asked brash, adding a groan, “I bet the only german word you know is … is Sauerkraut!”

He wasn’t wrong, Bel huffed, “so what?”

“You are not making this decision out of conscientiousness!” Randall tried to step up to her, but she made a step back. He let her. “You’re motif is of something else.”

She exhaled, “I made an unforgiving mistake, that almost led into the destruction of The Hour. The show simply deserves better. Going to Berlin is maybe a well-needed change of view.”

Maybe she wasn’t good with any poker face, Randall thought but was still very convincing otherwise. “I won’t let you!”

She laughed, what was more a huff of exhaustion, “You are overruled, and you know it.”

His mind paced, springing from one phrase to say to the next, about to malfunction. “What’s… what’s with us?”

Bel lowered her chin, feeling pressure in her chest build-up, “This wasn’t an easy decision to make, Randall, because…”

“Because of what?”

“Because I care for you.” It was sincere. “Yet… we both know how difficult it would be. I am obviously in a crisis of my own. We said it doesn’t matter, but the public eye will certainly have a problem with this. But in the end, I failed not only this show. I failed you. And you deserve better.”

She was snubbing him, and all Randall could do was being shocked by his speechlessness. 

Suddenly the door went open, and Hector and Lix stood in the office. Both Randall and Bel startled. 

“It’s not a good moment!” Randall exclaimed louder as usual. 

Hector and Lix shared a look, “What’s going on?”

Randall’s fingers trailed up and down his tie not willing to answer.

Bel shuffled unsure on the spot. “I’ve decided to leave for Berlin.”

A bomb dropping couldn’t have a better effect in turning the foreign desk and the anchorman of The Hour into a dead still status. 

“That’s insane,” Lix spoke not without dragging from her cigarette first. She bent slightly forward, looking at Randall, “Have you told her?”

Smacking with his lips in annoyance, Bel didn’t let him answer. “My mind is made up. I am about to go home, packing.” And with that, she raced out of the room.

“You need to stop her!” Hector watched Bel leave, before turning to Randall.

“I was trying to do exactly that,” he stepped forward, reaching for the door, “before you two invaded my office.”

“It’s obviously not working,” Lix recalled in her usual smugness. 

All three then shuffled out of the office pacing toward the elevator where Bel stood, pressing the button nervously. 

“Bel!” he reached for her arm. “Please, we need to talk about this.”

“There is nothing to talk about, Randall. I am sorry,” she pressed the button once again. “Everything I wanted to say, I’ve said.”

Then finally, the door for the metal cabin went open.

“You can’t go.”

Stepping inside, she turned, placing her hand onto the closing mechanism, “why not?”

Randall was overrun for a second, “This show… it needs you.”

The words were close to what she wanted, needed to hear, but so far away off at the same time, “This show needs better!” Then she took her hand away and Randall, Lix and Hector had to watch the door go close.

“You need to take the stairs!” Hector tugged at his jacket. Something he used to do back in the war, tugging at his uniform after having given out orders to his platoon. 

Randall stared at him, aware his tone didn’t give him much room for discussion.

Hector’s expression turned into a quizzical one, “Don’t look at me like this man! You need to stop her; this show will go down without her.”

Lix placed a hand on Randall’s arm, “He is right.”

It was something he should have done for Lix, but never had, “Lix?”

“You will go down without her too,” she squeezed his arm, encouraging him for once in his life to make the right decision. “You know that.”

“Fine!” Randall hissed under his breath. “Call the reception, Mister Madden; they shall stop her!”

With long strides, Randall paced down the stairs, trying not to lose his balance. 

“Out of the way!” he shouted to some of his workers, pressing the button of the elevator on every floor when passing it on his way down. Hoping it would delay Bel’s arrival on the bottom floor. 

Almost slipping down the last few stairs, he reached the lower floor more stumbling as anything else, trying to catch his breath. Glancing at the elevator lamp, it indicated it was still moving. 

“Has she come out yet?” Randall had heard the phone go while having paced down.

“No, Sir,” the young woman at the reception shook her head, confused about what was going on. Hector’s orders had been held short. “Do not let Miss Rowley leave the building!”

Randall rubbed his chest and then checked his watch as if that had any meaning, then after a few endless seconds, the door of the lift opened. 

The view of Randall let Bel halt for a second in her movement. Considering him, watching his chest heave up and down by the activity, Bel thought to say something. Only to shake her head and move past him. 

“The last time I’ve run down three floors in such urgency was back in the war,” he called after her. His voice still lost for breath. His left hand brushed through his hair while he watched Bel stop in her tracks and turn. “In France, somewhere near Arras, when a building was about to collapse — just for context!” 

Had she underestimated him? Her upper teeth bit her lower lip, giving her mind a bit of time to find some clarity. In the beginning, she had called him insane, only to be told later by him that madness is a prerequisite for any good journalist. Randall the enigma. Randall the open book. 

“A man has no more character than he can command in a time of crisis, remember?” she was trying to step around him once more, but this time Randall grabbed her by the upper arm.

“Good I was talking about men, not women,” they shared a look, “stop using everything I say against me. I can’t even remember when I said it.”

“The first day we met,” she spoke without having to think. 

Their first meeting had left an impression. Not a good one, not a bad one, but with many mixed feelings. The way he had told her about ‘that tick’ was imprinted into her remembrance as if they had talked the day before. 

Some words, some encounters never left Bel Rowley. Like their first meeting. Like the day Freddie pitched her the headline for the ‘the most important 60 minutes of your week’. 

The way Randall used to sort the books in her office once. The way people used to speak with her only because she was a woman in a leading position. In their opinion, she was unwilling to clear her position for a ‘lovely place in the kitchen, while a bairn was crying in the next room for attention’. 

Randall watched her intensely, seeing her eyes move back and forth, contemplating. He knew he needed to work a little harder to avert a defeat, “There is something else I said, not long ago, just a few days old. About taking things slow.”

Her eyes darted quickly toward him, stilling there, “Things?” 

Lowering his head a bit to look at her over the rim of his specs, “Don’t make me say it.” It was too early. It would scare her away. 

“Then don’t!” she yanked her arm free and walked on.

Randall turned on his heels with her, “If Freddie would be here, he’d tell you how much of a bloody stupid idea it is of you to take that position!”

The mentioning of her lost friend made her turn, pointing one finger with verve at him, “but he isn’t!” her lower lip trembled in anger and sadness.

“No, he isn’t,” Randall would never have played that card when it wasn’t necessary. “So, it’s obviously upon me to tell you that it is a bloody stupid idea you are trying to force on yourself. You think you made a mistake, and now you think it’s necessary to punish yourself for it. But it is not punishment, Bel. It’s running away.”

“I am not running away!”

“You do! It was a mistake, something that shouldn’t have happened. But mistakes happen! And instead of facing the consequences, facing the fact just to do it better next time, you decide not to. It won’t work, Bel. Get that advice from a person who ran away from his responsibilities more than once. Berlin will give you nothing but regret.”

“Randall…”

“You think you have to be though, stronger than anyone else, and I agree, you have to at some points, but right now you don’t need to.”

“And why not? They will always take that one mistake and hold it against me. Always!”

“No!” he shook his head. “I won’t let them.”

“I don’t need saving.”

A moment of silence arose, and Randall didn’t know if he would be able to convince her. If their bond as a team and as lovers was that strong or if he just had assumed too much.

“No, you don’t. Not when you stay.”

“Because the Hour needs me?” she asked in dismiss. 

“Yes, because the show needs you. Because Hector needs you. Because Lix does and everyone in this damn building does!” Randall had made many mistakes in his life, “but mainly,” he wasn’t willing to do another one, “because _I_ need you.”

The last time someone had come to fight for her, was Freddie. In some extent and then he had wandered off to get himself killed. It was something she wasn’t used to. “You’ll find a good producer anywhere.”

“I will,” Randall smiled gently, “but that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“But…,” the excuses ran short, “the position in Berlin has to be cast.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you in the office. Mister Wengrow agreed to take the position for six months. Then we will see further. He’s packing his bags at the very moment.”

“Isaac? He is still living with his mother!”

“He’ll grow up, raise above it. Right as you said. And we’ll grow up too. That’s why mistakes are made for.” 

Bel swayed between leaving and staying. 

Randall knew he had her almost. “We are not the sum of our mistakes, Bel. You are so much more! And if you want me to tell you every day, I will. If you want me to go to Berlin, and talk you out of it, I will. What I can’t do is make Freddie tell you this because I think you would believe him more than me at the moment,” there was a moment Bel wanted to object,” because he was your friend. Last night, I found that picture of you and Freddie under your desk, and I wondered what if.”

Eyes wide open she quickly caught on what it could be Randall had been thinking through. 

Confirming her suspicion, he spoke on, “What if, I had never asked Freddie to come back to the Hour? Where would we be? Do you think it was easy to see you grieve over your best friend? To let my heart feel for you what it feels at this very moment? Something that didn’t happen in the past ten days, but in the course of a year. The truth is, Bel Rowley, you have grown so much in the past year. You worked through the loss of him, for the sake of the show, the sake of our team. He’d tell you. But I can’t bring him back.”

“If you hadn’t brought him back, he would have stood on the doorstep a day later, anyway,” Bel exclaimed. “Because that was Freddie. Always in for a surprise. He died because of… Cilenti killing him — and no other reason.”

Randall smiled at her gently, seeing she had found her epiphany moment quicker as him. 

“Please,” he reached for her hand. “Just for once, Bel Rowley, let me save you, in order to save me later.”

And then Bel realised that going to Berlin would do nothing more as to take her away from the man she wanted to hold on to. After all this time, after so many men that only had her around to make them feel better, Randall was the one who wanted to be around her to give her the support and love she always had sought. The one she deserved. Slowly her fingers curled around his, and then with a long sigh, she finally gave in. 

Quickly Randall found his hands on the back of her neck, the other by her spine, giving her a proofing look. With relief Bel leaned forward, her hands sliding over his cheeks, her fingertips by his temples. They found together in a yearning kiss, their hands and arms coming tighter around each other. Unwilling to let go. 

The ringing of the phone by the reception was so quickly cut off by the receptionist woman, as she had her hand on the handle for quite a bit while listening to Randall’s speech. That’s why Hector was unable to deliver his question without a stutter. 

“Did he get a hold of her?” 

Lix was sitting aside Hector, them sharing the receiver.

The girl blushed, her eyes pinned on Bel and Randall, “Uhm… quite literally, Mister Madden.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hector asked more toward Lix, who grabbed the receiver pulling it closer to her ear while rolling her eyes at Hector. 

“Did he kiss her?”

The question made the young woman look away from the couple, “I am not sure if I am allowed to share this information.”

It was confirmation enough for Lix. “He did.” Turning to Hector, she gave him the receiver back. Taking it, he said some last words and then hung up.

Randall had picked up on the telephone conversation at the back of his head. Now, after the receptionist had hung up, he turned his attention, but not his face, from Bel to the desk, “Who was it?”

The girl was flustered to no end, “Mister Madden, Sir. And Miss Storm.”

“Of course,” Randall bit the inside of his cheeks. Making Bel, touch him gently by the wrist. A gesture to tell him it was okay. 

“He… he told me to tell you; and that’s his words, not mine, Sir, if you can find the time to come back up again? There is a show that needs producing.”

The girl blushed, Bel began to snicker, and Randall sent a glare three floors up through the ceiling, “If ITV ever calls to lure him away again… I let them.” 

With laughter, Bel captured Randall’s lips again, and he chuckled against hers, his arms once again tightening around her body. 

“So, this is it then?” Hector had found a chair he could slump into. “The Happy End to all the drama?”

Lix guffawed, “Too much for you?”

“Utterly!” he searched for some cigarettes, and when he couldn’t find his etui, Lix offered him hers. Hector watched her giving him fire and then continued, “Pete…”

“What’s with him?”

“Asked twice? For your hand, I mean,” for his persona Hector had a solemn face put on.

“Yes…,” Lix gave back the serious expression.

For a second Hector considered to leave it be, and then a bit of good spirit came over him, “Do me a favour Lix, next time he asks,” he leaned forward, “say yes, will you?”

Negating his body language, she rose her eyebrows, unsure why he was suddenly in such a mood, “Why are you telling me this, Hector?”

“Because there probably won’t be a fourth time,” he offered a knowing smile. Life lessons learned. “There is no need to stand your ground. Just damn well be happy!”

Inhaling the smoke, Lix gave the phone a look, wondering about the future of Randall and Bel for a second, “I’ll consider your thoughts, Hector.”

Beginning to nod, Hector suddenly clapped his hands together, making Lix jump slightly, “Perfect! And now; I am going home.”

“Already?” Lix wanted to protest but noticed it was indeed late. “Oh, yes, sounds like a good idea. Let me give Pete a call, you could drop me off, couldn’t you?”

“Sounds like a plan. Meet you in five!”

“Where do you think, you are going?” it was Bel asking Hector and Lix, meeting them when the elevator door went open. Randall looked at his watch, wondering the same.

“Home,” they both said in unison. 

“Something you should too,” Hector pointed at them. “Enough drama for today.”

“Goodnight!” Lix added and before any response could come the door was going close again. Leaving Randall and Bel with a quizzical look behind. 

Then they broke out into laughter. 


	19. Afterword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure if this is necessary, but I just posted the last 8 chapters in one go. I see not many people read this so it made no sense in waiting as it was finished. I hope there was no confusion about the sudden mass of chapters.

When Bel entered his office, Randall raised from his desk, reaching for a few papers waiting for her to close the door. She was holding a postcard in hand, waving it from left to right. He could guess very well from his point who had written it. 

He glanced over the rim of his glasses, “Mister Wengrow, I presume?” 

Bel rose an eyebrow in mocked appreciation, “guess the picture of the Brandenburger Gate gave it away.” They both smirked at each other while she went over to let him take a look while she reported the content. “He sends his wishes. Weather’s fine. Greetings to everyone.”

“Sounds like a real Shakespeare,” Randall took the card reading it over with a chuckle. “You think he’s fine?”

“I talked to his mother on the phone,” Bel went over placing another stack of files on his desk. “He loves it apparently. And he met a girl.”

“I hope she is a journalist,” Randall smirked.

“She is actually,” she took the card from Randall again. She would hang it up in the conference room for everyone to read. “Another marriage we have to attend then?”

“I hope not,” Randall groaned and let himself lean against his desk while reaching for another postcard that laid on his desk. “As we speak,” he held it out to her.

A card from Italy, on the back a well-known handwriting. Ending with _XXX Lix_. Bel took it with excitement from him. “Can’t believe she did that! Eloping with Mister America. To marry him in Italy!”

Lix had asked for two weeks off and had vanished quickly, calling a few days later in on Bel, telling her Pete had popped the question. She had said yes — finally, and they had looked for the next best priest in town. Knots were tied, awe’s and oh’s made in the newsroom. 

With a typical female sigh, Bel let the card drop, after all, it was a sweet happy end for Lix, and she had the strong feeling she’d be thrilled with Pete. 

Looking at Randall, she noticed he had observed her with pursed lips. “You are not jealous, are you?”

He gave the thought a second, just to be sure, “No. But I will be a lot more when she does not come back!”

Bel smirked, relieved about his answer, “She promised she would. I also told her to hunt her down if she wouldn’t.”

“If this is not bringing her back, then nothing will,” Randall chuckled then. “News about Mister Maddens offspring?”

Another happy ending, “7 pounds. 4.4 ounces. Delivered this morning. Mother and child are doing well. He called me half an hour ago.”

“A girl?” Randall wanted to know, sounding already sure about it.

“Yes,” she had bet a fiver on it being a boy. “Another good guess of yours?”

“No,” Randall smirked thin. “Simply what Mister Madden deserves. Another woman keeping him in check and on his toes at the same time.”

Bel suppressed a giggle, “I told Sissy to get some flowers and a little dress for the baby.”

“I’ll put it on the bill for work expenses,” he placed his hands left and right watching her with joy.

“You can be quite funny, Mister Brown,” Bel settled aside him. Leaning gently against his shoulder, her hand cupping his. “You okay?”

“Never been better; why are you asking?” his thumb brushed over hers.

“You seem off the past few days,” Bel turned, looking at him. “I thought first it was about Lix, but … it’s something else.” 

“Well,” Randall rubbed his hands, dispatching from the desk. “Glad you point it out. I was wondering … the festive season is in front of us, and there is a chance we can take five to seven days off without _anyone_ noticing over the holidays.”

Bel awed, “Sounds like you are about to make an immoral offer.”

“One could say so,” he bobbed up and down on his heels, “there is this lodge in Scotland, I could let it get stacked up. A nice commode area. A buzzing location in summer, but quite right for winter. What do you say?”

“An alluring offer.” The past two weeks had been the best in her life. After finally having had that dinner, she had basically moved into his apartment. Sharing every minute they didn’t have to spend apart during work together. They cooked dinner together and ate in front of his sofa, watching a movie, ending up on the carpet kissing each other. He tried to be professional in the office - their relationship an open secret - keeping the distance. Still, Bel took every chance to make him press her against his office door, snogging her like a teenager. 

They had talked about their worries, their plans and at one occasion they had met up with the others from the office, for a drink, meeting Pete again. 

The last two broadcasts had brought back better numbers, and soon two new positions could be put out recruiting new people to join the team. 

Short, they both were happy. 

“I dare say,” Bel continued, “a well deserved holiday. When my Head of News doesn’t object, I am all yours. “

Randall reached out and pulled her in for a kiss,” I don’t think he will. Here,” he reached for a flyer from the area, holding it out to her. “The beach is not that far away, we could go for some long walks,” Bel hummed in excitement. “A bit of sightseeing, a bit of getting married later and when we are hungry have dinner in one of the many restaurants.”

“Mh,” Bel was still reading over the text in the flyer, when the pressing silence let her recapitulate Randall’s words, “wait… what?”

“Yes, they have exceptional seafood, see! “Randall pointed at a picture on the paper. 

Bel yanked the paper out of his reach “— no! The other thing.”

“Walk along the beaches? You might want to pack another sweater; it can be cold in Scotland— “

“— Randall Dougan Brown!”

“It’s not fair using my second name.” He had told her one evening. An innocent question of her, while he was busy placing kisses all over her naked body. She had teased him about the name ever since, finding a childish liking in it.

“Did you… did you just propose to me?”

Randall hesitated, his expression all soft and worried, “Yes. I can go onto my knees, doing it the old fashion way, but I presumed you are not into that… also, I have a ring, somewhere,” with it he began to search his pockets. “I would definitely find when I wouldn’t be so bloody nervous.”

It was ridiculous; everything was. It was three weeks, and she knew it was the most adventurous idea she ever had, “Yes.” 

“Yes,” Randall agreed, still searching. Then, hearing how she gently cleared her throat, he looked up, seeing her eyebrow raise, underlined with an amused look. “Yes?”

“Yes,” she repeated. When Randall wasn’t the man to make her happy, no man ever would. 

A sudden warmth spread through him, “Yes.” With a sigh, he quit his search and reached for her face, a genuine smile on his lips, “yes!” and kissed her.

“Wait a minute!” she leaned back, giving him a mischievous expression. “I can’t marry you after… after four weeks! That’s almost immoral!”

He reached for the back of her neck, bringing her close to his lips, “Isobel Rowley.”

“It’s not fair using my given Christian name,” she mumbled against his lips, her fingers getting lost in his curls. Overruled she was. “You are an immoral man, Mister Brown. I hope you know that.”

He smirked against her lips, “It has been said.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 19 Chapters and almost 50 k words I once more finished another long fic for my fav OTP. The current lockdown provided me with the time to write this story mainly within three weeks. Furthermore, I noticed that this fandom is getting smaller by ... the day and besides it's not my main interests of writing for a lot of people, it is, of course, something that spurs me on. Getting into contact with people (via comments) and so on. 
> 
> I noticed, in this fandom and in other (bigger ones) that there seems to be reducing in leaving comments. So, for me personally, it feels like yelling into a void and never ever getting an idea if this is good or bad. More I think it's not that great because there is this tiny unsaid rule, "if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all". 
> 
> Anyway, what I want to express is, this is probably for the time being my last The Hour (long) fic. I decided to retreat to some original ideas I plan to write for myself as a book and for that, I really should get away from this OTP and fanfic in general.  
> Maybe it is just the current situation of Corona, maybe it's the point I needed to move on a little. At least from long fics that consume a lot of time. 
> 
> When you have followed me or this story, in particular, you are still welcomed to leave a kudo or a comment. Anytime! It always makes my day! So, long everyone, take care, it was my joy and honour!


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